The Morgenstern Girl
by ILoveFishyCrackers
Summary: Valentine Morgenstern has added a new member to his family: 6 year old Eve, one of his Angel-blood experiments. But what does he want her for? And more importantly, how will 8 year old Jonathan survive, living with a girl in his house? Jonathan/OC
1. Chapter 1: The Morgenstern Girl

**YAY! ****SCREAMS**** **  
><strong>I HAVE WANTED TO WRITE THIS FOR SO LONG! I absolutely <em>love <em>this story, and it makes my day when I can write about my favorite little heroine's adventures! (***Cuddles Eve****)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters!... And I doubt that Jonathan is selling himself for money. (Me: O.o?) Well, you never know... Valentine has probably done eviler things to get some cash...**

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><p>"Eve," Mother demanded. "Get up, <em>now<em>!"

Mother threw off the ruby-colored bedspread, leaving Eve to shiver in the center of her bed. The little girl gasped at the sudden, startling wave of icy air and tried to open her eyes. Only moments ago, she had been warm and asleep and dreaming: a dream of angels, Eve thought, but it was hard to tell. Dreams were impossible to remember once you were awake.

She glanced upward and saw her mother looming over her, with a blazing brass lantern in one hand and a rigid scowl on her face. The lantern-glow surrounded Mother with a harsh, orange light; a light that threw dark shadows across her beautiful features and caught in her long red curls like tiny flames. Mother's narrow green eyes flashed with impatience.

"I _said_ get _up_," Mother raged. Her slender hand shot out again, clamped on Eve's tiny wrist, and hauled her, heartlessly, out of bed. A jagged lightning bolt of pain flared throughout Eve's arm: partially from Mother's long, cat-sharp nails biting into her skin, and partially from the shattering force that Mother was using to pull on her arm. Eve somehow landed on the floor upright, although her bare feet almost slipped as they touched the cold marble. Mother released her arm with a growl, ignoring the tremble that ran down in Eve's spine.

She spun around and swooped to Eve's chest-of-drawers in the corner, rummaging through it irritably for something she didn't seem to be finding. Eve took the opportunity to draw her throbbing wrist to her chest, in hopes that it would stop the hurt. But her wrist was braceletted with deep cuts where Mother's nails had sliced her, and the pain didn't end.

Eve surveyed the room, trying to find the reason why Mother had awakened her. Beyond the lantern-light, the room was crowded in shadow, and it made her uneasy. Even in the dark winter months, the stone fireplace in the corner would be ablaze when she woke up, although now in the summer, it usually wasn't necessary. The sun was up hours before she ever was.

_Then why is the room still dark?_, Eve wondered.

She looked out the window to her side and knew why: The heavy, velvet curtains had been pulled aside and Eve could see the pearly moon shining in the diamond-studded black sky, casting eerie shadows on Idris' rolling hills below. A wind swept across the landscape, rustling through the long grass. It was night still: But that did not explain why Mother would wake her then – when morning would not come for hours…

Eve wished that she could go back to her dream of angels.

"What are you looking at?" Mother hissed. She had returned from the chest-of-drawers, clearly with whatever she had been looking for. In her hand was a bundle of pale fabric that Eve didn't recognize. "Arms up," snapped Mother.

Eve winced at her whip-like voice and raised her arms. Any hesitation when obeying Mother always ended with a punishment of some kind. Usually, one that left Eve with bruises.

Mother tugged off her nightgown and drew the other dress on quickly over her head. At first, all Eve noticed about it was that the fabric was cool and unfamiliar, and that she would rather have been wearing her warm nightgown.

Neither of those things changed as she saw herself in the mirror. The dress was new as she had thought, but the sight of it on her was odd. The long sleeves were unlike anything she had ever worn before, especially in the summertime, and the delicate folds of the skirt felt heavy, and the hem brushed against her knees when she moved. It made her feel like one of the princesses in the stories that Father read her: the ones that spent their lives stuck in dungeons or castle fortresses, waiting for a prince to come by and save them.

Except that those princesses probably never wore a knee-length dress like she was wearing. And they were probably _never_ wakened in the dead of night. For _any_ reason.

Mother put the lantern on the floor, which gave her light and two free hands as she fussed with the dress, forcing the skirt-folds to fall the way she liked.

Eve fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. "Mother? Am … am I going somewhere?" she asked.

Mother glared. "Of _course_ you are, you brainless little fool," she sneered. "You think I would be _awake_ – and at _this_ unholy hour – if you _weren't_?"

Eve recoiled from her mother. She wanted to ask where she was going, and why, and for how long, but Mother grabbed her wrist again, and the stinging pain made her forget everything.

She was shoved in front of the tall mirror at the far end of the room, where Mother dragged a stiff brush quickly through her hair. Eve winced at every downward stroke, but she kept quiet, knowing that even the slightest whimper would send Mother into another vicious rant.

Within seconds it was over and Mother studied her handiwork in the mirror with a glance of self-gratification.

Eve thought she looked strange.

The shadows in the room made her blue eyes seem large and incredibly dark, and her long blonde curls a shade or two paler than they were in reality. The darkness washed all color from her face, making her skin appear unnaturally white. It was like staring at a ghost of herself.

Eve looked quickly away, and watched as Mother took up the lantern from the floor. It flooded the reflection with cold, orange light.

"Come," Mother commanded.

Eve did.

She was led out of her room and into a labyrinth of dark corridors. The obscurity caught at Eve's nerves, as if the shadows hid lurking, invisible dangers. She tried to avoid looking at them and stayed close to her mother, but the darkness wasn't her only fear: the silence was just as stifling – and worse than the shadows somehow. Their soft footfalls simply could not break the silence the way the lantern broke the darkness. And being close to her mother was less than comforting.

They descended a staircase together, though Eve couldn't tell which one it was in the dark. In fact, most of the manor looked unfamiliar to her at night. All of the doors appeared to be the exact same and the corridors all the same, like a never-ending stone maze of hallways and entryways. It was when they finally got to the bottom that Eve first noticed a shaft of light sneaking out from under one of the doorways: a light that blazed like fire against the marble floor.

Eve trailed closely after her mother. So closely, that when Mother stopped at the doorway, Eve had to quickly dig in her heels to stop from colliding with her.

Like a whip Mother spun around, brandishing a glare that could have melted acid. Eve cringed, just as Mother moved suddenly, to sneer at her again or to strike her, Eve didn't know.

But a servant-girl cut Mother short. She emerged from the half-open doorway and with her entry came the sound of voices; one of them, Eve recognized immediately as her father's. The second one was a mystery, but Mother seemed to know it instantly.

Her green eyes widened as she snatched the servant-girl by the shoulder and dragged her aside. "My God, is he _here_?" Mother demanded at a whisper. "I thought he would have sent someone _else_ to fetch her…"

The servant looked uncomfortable. She blinked and shook her head, sending her brown hair flying. "No, my lady. He said that no one else could be trusted – and that it is best if no one else knows."

Mother gazed dreamily at the door. She released the girl with a harsh shove and bolted to the mirror on the wall beside them.

Eve stared in bewilderment as Mother examined her reflection: She prodded her red curls and batted her eyelashes and smoothed her pale violet dress, muttering all the while about how the staff never told her _anything_ and that she really ought to fire them all. Eve noticed that the servant-girl had slid cautiously out of Mother's reach, although Mother herself didn't seem to notice. She had a bright faraway look in her eyes that Eve had never seen.

For a moment, Eve eyed the half-open doorway, an unhappy thought forming in her mind. _What did Mother mean, 'someone else to fetch her'? Who was fetching her? Where was she going?_

She frowned as her mind swam with unwanted questions. Almost without thinking, she edged closer to the door, but her mother towed her back with a snap of her wrist. Eve cried out in pain and surprise

"Now listen, you little rat," Mother snarled. In absolute terror, Eve took a step back and was jerked forward by Mother's vice-like grip on her arm. Mother's nails bit deeper as she tightened her hand. It made Eve's skin sting. "You had better not mess this up," she continued viciously. "Because if you do, I swear by the Angel, you will not live to regret it. Do I make myself clear?"

A whimper sounded in Eve's throat. Mother shook her ruthlessly. "I _said_, do I make myself _clear_?"

Eve nodded hastily and Mother let her wrist go. She straightened up and smoothed down her waist-length hair as Eve cowered against the cold stone wall, trying to catch her breath. "And for God's sake," Mother growled. "Don't forget to smile; we want him to like you."

The servant-girl moved aside as Mother made her way to the doorway. Eve stood paralyzed, feeling the warm threat of tears welling in her eyes. But in an instant, the servant-girl was kneeling at her side.

Her hand was soft and affectionate where she placed it on Eve's cheek. "Don't worry," she whispered with a sympathetic smile. "He is a good man – Better than your mother is any day," she added.

Eve nodded and wiped her eyes, although she doubted anyone could possibly be _worse_ than her mother.

"Eve! Come!" Mother called. She was waiting by the doorway and her sharp voice reminded Eve of the pain in her wrist.

She shot the servant-girl a pleading glance.

"Go on," the dark-haired girl said. "You'll do fine."

With another hard, long look at the servant-girl, Eve turned away and slipped warily into the room with her mother.

The first person she saw in the room was Emile, her father; his blue eyes and golden hair a perfect twin to her own. He was standing by the window at the other end of the room, his good-looking face hidden as he pulled back the swaths of dark velvet curtains. The fireplace was blazing beside him, but his Rune-scarred hands were rigidly stiff at his sides, as if he was still cold despite the heat. His sunny hair curled casually at his high cheekbones and at the hard line of his jaw – but his hair was slightly disheveled, she noticed, as if he had just gotten up. It reminded Eve of the countless times she had curled into his lap and fell safely asleep; then had woken up later with that same bed-hair.

It was a shock to her when Father finally turned around.

He didn't smile at her, or tease her, or open his arms and let her run to him. His expression was closed, his mouth unbearably tight, but his eyes, his eyes were the most awful. It was as if the laughter that had once been there had shattered into a million jagged pieces. Or like he had gotten lost and didn't know who she was or why he was there. Eve had never seen him look so miserable.

"My Valentine," Mother crooned beside her. "I had no idea you were coming!"

Eve shot her mother a look. The voice she was using was one that Eve had never heard before; an adoring sort of sing-song voice, so sweet it made Eve sick. And hadn't the maid just told her that he _was_ here?

Mother slid closer to Eve and beamed down at her, although Eve could tell that her smiles were far from genuine. It wasn't really a surprise to her, but it was certainly frightening.

In her experience, Mother smiling always meant something _bad_ was going to happen to her. A vision surged in Eve's mind of her Mother grabbing at her wrist again, her nails digging into her soft skin…

Eve cowered away from her mother and stumbled back, going far enough that Mother couldn't reach her anymore. A flash of rage sparked in Mother's jewel-green eyes, but all she did was laugh. "She must be nervous, Valentine." Mother insisted. "Really, she's never done _anything_ like this before."

_Valentine? Was that who was taking her?_

Eve looked at the man Mother was talking to – and stared.

He was sitting in one of the rich armchairs, and even so, Eve could tell he was tall – _very_ tall, and impossibly broad, with a face as hard and handsome as a marble statue. He was like a carving of ice, all pale white, even his hair, but his eyes and suit were endlessly black. It was strange, she thought, that his hair should be so pale. He didn't appear much older than Father was: if anything, she thought he looked faintly younger. There was something about the way his dark eyes gleamed… something that made him seem brighter than anything else in the room.

Valentine frowned past her at Mother, making Eve wonder if he could see through her fake smiles as well. In an instant, though, he was smiling amiably, and Eve was glad to note that it didn't make her feel afraid or apprehensive at all. "Minerva," he greeted in a silken voice. "How nice of you to join us…"

Mother slid to Valentine's side and outstretched her hand expectantly. She giggled as he received her, taking her hand with faultless grace. Mother looked ready to purr as he kissed the back of her hand.

Father looked away with an expression of disgust.

Valentine's ink-colored eyes flicked to where Eve was standing and he immediately dropped Mother's hand. "So this is Eve…" he murmured, rising to his feet.

Eve stood in the center of the room, to unsure to move or say anything as he came toward her. Valentine was even taller when he stood, and yet, she still felt no fear of him. The only thing she _did_ feel perhaps was a sort of curiosity: Who was this man? What did he want with her?

"She is a beauty to be sure," Valentine commented. "Certainly her mother's child," he put in, throwing a short smile at Mother.

Mother giggled like a fool.

"Although, she has much of her father's looks as well," he continued pleasantly as he circled around Eve. "She looks quite a bit like you, Emile," Valentine added, glancing at Father.

Father glared out the window and said nothing.

For a split-second, Eve thought that Valentine looked concerned. A few muscles in his neck tightened slightly, over the color of his white shirt, but the look was gone before she could even blink. She saw Mother throw a dark scowl Father's way, as Valentine turned his attention to Eve again.

"How old are you now Eve?" asked Valentine. "You must be six or seven, am I right?" His voice was rich and melodic, and Eve decided that she liked it.

"I am six," she answered, gazing toward Father. He had finally turned away from the window and was staring at her. The look in his eyes was heartbreaking, a distant sort of pleading.

Eve wondered if it was somehow her fault that Father seemed so sad.

Valentine studied her face with an expression of calculated interest. His features were striking, Eve thought, and yet handsome, in a way that was very unlike her father's own golden looks. Eve couldn't help but stare back.

"How old are _you_?" Eve asked Valentine, trying to break the heavy silence. She could tell from the flicker of surprise that crossed his features that he hadn't expected her to ask that question – or maybe any question at all, for that matter.

Humor flashed in his black eyes like sparks as he smiled at her. "Older than six," he replied.

Eve smiled back.

Unlike Valentine, Mother seemed enraged at her for asking – her cheeks flushed a furious shade of red – but it was a short-lived fury. Valentine gave Mother a look, and within moments, Mother was biting her lip and giggling and toying with her hair, just as she had done before.

He ignored Mother as he slid flawlessly across the floor and returned to his seat. Valentine moved with the kind of elegance Eve wished she had: His motions were like liquid metal; making every movement seem like a dance. She wondered if he might teach her how to move like that someday.

He glanced at the armchair to his side, a smile playing around his lips. "Come here, Eve," he said.

Mother turned and glared at her. "Go to him," she hissed, but Eve was already half-gone. She ran over to Valentine's chair and sat down at his feet, her skirt falling around her like the petals of a flower.

Valentine raised his hand to her face, and despite herself, Eve flinched. He noticed her recoil unlike Mother ever did and paused, his hand staying close to her cheek. It was almost as if he was waiting for her permission. Eve thought it was fascinating that _anyone_ would wait for her permission at all.

He gently slid his fingertips under her chin and raised her face to his. His fingertips were rough but steady, and very unlike Father's. "Tell me," Valentine insisted. "What do you know about me, Eve?"

Eve stared at him intently. Up close, his eyes were not flatly black as she had thought: His pupils were a bit darker then his irises, like blacker shadows standing against lighter shadows. "Nothing," Eve answered. "I have never been told anything."

Valentine frowned thoughtfully. "Is this true?" He glanced up at Mother and Father questioningly.

Neither of them spoke.

"We thought it would hurt her more," Mother interjected suddenly, her voice full of false affection. "– if we told her about this – circumstance – any time beforehand… And she was too naïve to understand the situation if we did…"

Valentine's mouth curled at the corner, but there was dislike in his eyes as he watched Mother. "So you thought it would hurt her _less_, when she found out that you had deceived her her entire life? Did you _really_ think you were sparing her, by lying to her all these years?" His gaze dropped to his feet, where Eve sat, and the dislike faded from his black eyes. "And as for Eve being too naïve, I think you are mistaken. She seems perfectly capable to understand the truth, if you ever decided to tell it to her."

Eve met Valentine's gaze with confusion. "The truth?" she inquired. "What do you mean?"

Eve glanced at her father imploringly, hoping that there was no 'truth' that he had not told her. But his face gave her the answer: Valentine had been right. Father had lied to her in some way and she had never known it. Father, who had always cared for her, who she thought had loved her above anything else, had betrayed her.

Father took a step toward her, his face a mask of burdened guilt. "Eve –" he began, his voice shaking.

But Eve shifted away from him and nestled in closer to Valentine. Her face was hard as she stared at her father. Part of her longed to run to Father, to embrace him, to assure him everything was going to be alright, but another part of her, the _larger_ part of her, refused to. He had no right to look so miserable. Not when he had been the one who betrayed her.

He saw her draw nearer to Valentine, and he winced into himself sharply, as if seeing her choosing him had broken something deep inside him. Father's face drained of color, making his hair seem surreally gold and the shadows under his eyes seem like bruises, and Eve knew that it was the worst thing she could have possibly done to him.

His chest rose and fell rapidly, as if he had been running.

"You are right." Father began, his blue eyes shining brightly. "I owe her the truth. And the truth has always been this: I love her. Everything I have ever done for her has been out of love – and that includes whatever I have kept from her as well."

Eve started in surprise at her father's voice. It was as fragile as brittle metal, yet held an intense conviction. She glanced up at Valentine, wondering if she should believe her father – or if it was just another of his lies.

Valentine seemed to understand the question in her expression. He nodded his approval with a look of pleasure. "I'm certain that she recognizes that, Emile. But there is much more that she still needs to learn." Valentine stroked Eve's hair absently, as if she were a kitten. The steady motion relaxed her, and reminded her of how tired she was. She rested her head against Valentine's knee, her eyelids suddenly heavy. "For now, the most you need to know is that you are a very special child, Eve," he said in his smooth voice. "The blood of the Angel runs in your veins."

Father's expression shattered like glass as Valentine stroked her hair. He exhaled painfully and took an unsteady step back toward the window, gazing at them in vacant sorrow. Eve noticed that his hands were trembling – so violently, that even when he balled them into fists, the shaking continued. His eyes blazed for a moment – in anger, betrayal, or pain – Eve didn't know. But Father suddenly bowed his fair head, so that his face was hidden, and when he raised it again, the flame in his eyes had died.

"I can teach her what she needs to know, Emile." Valentine continued softly, persuasively. "She will have the best of training – the best tutors that Idris has to offer…"

Father's gaze was empty as he looked at Valentine. "Of course," he replied after a pause. All of his conviction had disappeared, leaving his voice hollow and distant. His voice had died, like his eyes had died.

"Then it's settled!" Mother chimed, ignoring Father's misery. "We know that she will be in the _best_ of hands, Valentine. We certainly expected _nothing_ less from you."

She fluttered over to Father without really looking at him. Her attention was never really on him when someone else was around. Dislike flashed across Valentine's features again as Mother spoke; tightening his jaw and sharpening his eyes, but Mother didn't seem to notice.

"Forgive me Valentine, but there will be a wait," she continued merrily. "The servants are still attending to Eve's trunk, you see, which may take some time. I would have prepared her things earlier, but I must admit that the delight of you company wasn't expected quite so soon…" She slid into the chair beside Valentine and gazed at him, her expression as faraway and dreamy as ever. "I suppose we must find a way to preoccupy ourselves, for the time being," she added in a low voice. She smiled at him as if he were heaven incarnate, though the affect appeared lost on Valentine.

He just looked supremely bored. "I have no desire to wait," he told her. Valentine gently drew Eve away from his knee and rose to his feet – and Eve scrambled to stand up beside him. "And it is hardly necessary that she bring a trunk. I can provide her with all her needs once we arrive." Valentine glanced down at Eve, questioningly. "Unless there is something in particular that you would like to take, Eve."

She knew by his expression that he would have let her keep anything she desired, but Eve shook her head, sending her gold curls flying: There _wasn't_ anything she wished to take and Valentine already mentioned that he wanted to leave as quickly as possible.

Mother's eyes widened. "_What_?" she cried. Mother catapulted to her feet, faster than Eve had ever seen her move, and slid in front of Valentine. He hardly seemed to notice her display; the most emotion that touched his features was a mild irritation as he brushed off his expensive suit.

With a bit of effort, Mother schooled her expression into one that was less desperate. "I mean – Must you go already?" she sputtered hastily. "I – I had hoped that you would stay for longer! Surely there must be another order of business – something else that still needs to be done…"

Valentine moved to walk past him, but Mother placed her hands on his chest to deter him, and for the first time, Valentine glanced her way. His eyes raked her from head to toe, and Eve thought she saw his gaze linger on Mother's bright red curls and her brilliant green eyes. His expression darkened for a moment, as if in memory, but then he looked away. "As a matter of fact, there _is_ one last 'order of business'." Valentine turned, glided out of Mother's reach to a short table, and produced piece of paper from his jacket pocket. He placed it on the marble surface with a look of finality. "It is completely optional that you sign this, of course. But it would please me greatly if you did."

Mother immediately bustled around the room, searching for a pen. Father glanced at the paper warily, and slipped away from the widow to read it. "What is it?" he demanded uncertainly.

"It is nothing we haven't discussed before, Emile." Valentine declared with a smile. "I simply want our agreement to be put down on paper; just as a formality, I assure you."

Father didn't look convinced. He took up the paper and read through it slowly. Once he was finished, he dropped it back on the table and eyed Valentine warily. "I thought that this was a very figurative agreement, Valentine," said Father. "I didn't imagine that you were prepared to make this so official."

"It will only be made official, if it must be made official." Valentine insisted with a wave of his hand. "It is a declaration of engagement, Emile. Engagements can be renounced. I'm hardly expecting them to marry each other if they do not choose to." Valentine glanced knowingly to Eve. "But if the time comes…" he continued suavely. "– And their will is to be with each other, then who am I to deny them that? You are simply giving me your permission, Emile – giving _them_ your permission – to wed."

Mother flounced back with a pen in hand. "Where do I sign?" she asked with a smile.

Valentine indicated the place with a tap of his finger. Mother seemed to pounce on the document, signing so quickly that Eve wondered if it was even legible. "Here Emile," Mother demanded after, shoving the pen in his hand. "Sign."

Father's shoulders drooped. The silence that followed carried away the momentary aversion left in his expression. It was replaced instead by a gaping hopelessness as he took the pen. "For all your sins, Valentine, you are a man of your word." Father said quietly, a fresh tiredness seeping into his voice. "So give me your word. Swear to me by the Angel, that you will not force Eve to marry against her will if I sign this contract."

"A _marriage_ contract?" Mother wondered. "Is _that_ what this is about?"

Valentine smiled at her dryly. "A contract of _engagement_. You should know, Minerva, you just _signed_ it."

Mother seemed to only notice Valentine's smile, and none of his blatant sarcasm. "Well, I don't see why it is so important that Eve chooses who she marries." Mother shrugged. "I'm sure whoever Valentine has selected for her will be the right choice. And don't forget Emile," she added. "That _our_ marriage was arranged: Your family _chose_ me to be your wife."

"And I refuse to see that misfortune repeated with Eve," growled Father.

Mother realized the insult and glowered at him. Her mouth twisted like broken glass, and she took a breath in, ready to snap an angry retort back at him, but for once she seemed lost for words. Mother still looked vicious though; all tense, like a cobra ready to strike. It made Eve cower instinctively closer to Valentine.

"I have known you for decades, Valentine," Father continued on. "We were younger than Eve is now when I first met you. Do not deny me this, if you truly come in good faith,"

Valentine became quiet, calculating. Eve thought he must be pondering over whatever downfalls there might be to such an oath.

A heavy pause cut the room before he spoke. "Do you really distrust me so, Emile –" Valentine inquired pleasantly. "– that you would demand my word for such a matter? What would I gain, even if I did force her and Jonathan to wed? I would have a bride for my son certainly; one with a good family pedigree, but surely you must realize that there are more venerable bloodlines in Idris than yours." Valentine stepped forward and took Father's hand in both of his own, curling Father's fingers tighter around the pen. "I understand your fatherly concern Emile," he said in a soft persuasive voice. "But do not forget that I also have my son's best interest at heart. I would not drive my child into a loveless marriage any more than you would. We are fighting for the same thing, you and I."

Father looked deflated. Mother, on the other hand, looked beside herself with spiteful glee. "See what I told you, Emile," she hissed at Father. "Jonathan Morgenstern will be a good match for Eve – an _advantageous_ match for Eve. Just _sign_ it."

Valentine slid his hands away from Father's and stepped back, waiting to see what he would do. There was a moment of hesitation, then, with a pitiful curse, Father leaned over the table and signed the paper, right beside Mother's signature. It was impossible to ignore the tenseness of Father's shoulders as he did it, or the look of total satisfaction that crossed Valentine's features.

Eve listened to the scratch of the pen on paper, her eyelids growing heavier with each moment. Adult-talk was always confusing to her: She had no idea what 'marriage' was, why Valentine and Mother wanted her to do it, or why Father _didn't_ want her to do it. And she also had no idea who 'Jonathan' was, or what _he_ had to do with the whole business.

Eve imagined being back in her bed, having the ruby-colored blankets pulled up to her chin, and wished with every cell in her body that she could go to sleep.

"Everything is settled then," said Valentine after Father had signed. He took the paper off the table and put it in his coat pocket again, looking victorious. His smile was dazzlingly white as he glanced down at her. "I think it is time to leave, Eve."

A yawn overtook her as she nodded. Valentine sidestepped around Mother and walked towards the doorway, not looking back to see if Eve had followed. She _had_ trailed after him, though, plodding behind him obediently, ignoring Mother and Father totally as she did. Soon, she back in the dark corridor, with no lantern-light this time – the only thing guiding her was the sound of Valentine's footsteps echoing farther down the hallway. Somehow, the shadows didn't frighten her as they had before. They only reminded her of Valentine's eyes; darker shadows against lighter shadows, black against blacker. It was nothing to be afraid of.

Light flamed suddenly, a sort of bluish light that flew strange patterns on the walls. When Eve looked, she saw that the light was coming from something in Valentine's hand. It rayed out light between his fingers as he turned to face her, illuminating his face with its otherworldly glow. And she realized that he was farther ahead than she had thought.

Valentine stopped and waited patiently as Eve hurried to his side, and in that moment, another light flared in the corridor. This light was a familiar orange color, at odds with Valentine's blue light. It was Mother of course, holding the lantern high while strutting down the corridor towards them. Valentine looked about as happy to see her as Eve was and started walking again.

Eve had a bit of difficulty keeping up; he was so much taller than she was, making her take three steps to match just one of his. Shortly though, they exited the corridor, finding themselves in the entryway of the manor, and Valentine slowed his pace. He tightened his fingers around the object in his hand, dousing the alien glow. Now the natural brilliance of the moon poured through the windows, casting a ghostly pallor over the pale stone walls and the wide, sweeping staircase.

A manservant lingered by the main door, and opened it hastily for her and Valentine when they approached. He seemed nervous at the sight of Valentine; though it was easier in the moonlight for Eve to see just how tall Valentine was, and not just tall, but broad, as well. He made the manservant look like a twig as he past him.

As soon as they were outside, the cool air hit Eve like a blow, and she was momentarily thankful for the long sleeves of her dress. The night was in its full glory, the stars flung across the sky like silver powder. A carriage was waiting at the bottom of the steps, gleaming an inky black in the moonlight. It was led by a pair of midnight colored horses and the driver was dressed in black as well, with dark hair that fell over his forehead, leaving his face in shadow as he swung up to his driving perch. Another shadowy figure jumped down from behind the carriage, and politely opened the door for them as they came closer. This man was different from the other coachman; his hair was a fairer shade of brown, and he was wearing a loose white shirt that tightened at the cuffs, tucked neatly into black pants. It made him seem less mysterious than the driver, which Eve was grateful for.

Valentine paused at the top of the stairs and Eve paused with him, feeling farther from the prospect sleep than ever. Footfalls sounded behind them, and Eve turned to see her mother lounging in the doorway, her lantern still blazing. Father was drifting at Mother's side like a phantom – soundless and devoid of soul – like the hollow shell of a once-living thing.

Silently, Valentine lowered his hand to his side, and Eve saw the light-making object more clearly. It looked like a rock, about as big as her fist, but smooth around the edges – worn with use, she supposed. Eve wondered how it made light at all, but she held back her question; it did not seem the time to ask, considering the grave silence between Valentine and her parents. She glanced up at Valentine inquisitively, curious at what he was waiting for, and when he caught her gaze, he seemed to understand what she was thinking.

"Farewell Emile, Minerva," said Valentine with an inclination of his head.

Eve took the hint and went to her Father. His face tightened in pain as she drew near to him, then suddenly he dropped to his knees, becoming eyelevel with her.

"Goodbye, Father," Eve began. She meant to say more, but saw her father's expression and decided against it. He was studying her face with a sorrowful intensity, as if trying to memorize every detail of her features, as if drinking in the image of her. Reaching out his hand, Father placed his fingertips on her cheek, too lightly to be considered a touch. Eve could only watch him mutely as he leaned closer to her.

"Eve," he whispered in a shaky voice. "I love you. You know that, don't you?"

She thought of every time he had held her, had read stories to her, had sat by her bed until she fell asleep – and nodded. "I know," she told him after a pause. "I love you too, Father."

Father tucked a lock of her golden curls behind her ear, more tenderly than he ever had before, his fingers lingering on her hair. He took both of her tiny hands in his own and kissed them before letting her walk back to Valentine.

With one last glance at her parents, Valentine led her down the graceful stone steps to the carriage. The man at the carriage door offered her his hand to help her up, and Eve placed her hand in his, ready to go inside the gloomy-looking cab, but a voice cut her short.

"Eve," her mother chirped. "Aren't you going to say goodbye to _me_?"

Mother outstretched her arms to her, as if expecting Eve to run into her arms for a hug. Memories of that morning surged in Eve's mind and her wrist throbbed painfully. "Goodbye, Mother," Eve offered, insensitively. She caught Mother's expression change and was thankful that Valentine was going to take her away. Mother looked ready to commit murder.

Mother spun on her heels and stormed back into the manor house, hissing something under her breath that sounded a lot like 'little, ungrateful wench'. Valentine smiled.

The man helped her into the carriage, and once inside, Eve's eyes adjusted to the gloom. It was much warmer inside the cab than outside, and the black leather seats were surprisingly comfortable; a great deal more comfortable than her own family's carriage. She resisted the urge to curl up on the seat and sleep as she looked for Valentine. He was standing next to Father at the top of the stairs, speaking to him, though Father didn't seem to appreciate the conversation at all; he looked ready to drive a dagger through Valentine's heart.

"You have done me a great favor, Emile," Valentine was saying, his voice distant.

"I have done you no favors, Valentine," Father snarled. "The only thing I _have_ done is be foolish enough to let you waltz into my life and let you take everything I have ever loved." Father shook his head, a bitter smile curling his lips. "You have my wife's heart in the palm of your hand – surely you know that – and by the Angel you can have her. I couldn't care less for Minerva. But Eve?" Father's voice rose furiously. "Eve has been the only good thing that has come out of this marriage, the only _shred_ of happiness I have had in years – and now you're taking her too. Is this how you repay a lifetime of friendship, Valentine? With treachery?" Father took a few steps back from Valentine, his face a mask of disgust. "You're cruel," he whispered, but the whisper sounded like a sob. "You're _cruel_!"

Father thundered back into the manor, slamming the door behind him, leaving Valentine standing alone on the steps. His shoulders were rigid, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Without another word, Valentine turned and stalked to the carriage, and although his face held no anger, there was an eerie gravity of calm surrounding him that made Eve wonder what he _was_ feeling. The man at the carriage door stepped aside obligingly as Valentine climbed into the cab, a question in his eyes.

"To the manor, Mr. Morgenstern?" he asked Valentine.

Valentine appeared extremely uninterested in the matter. He stared pointedly at his fists and slowly unfurled his scarred fingers. "Yes."

The man nodded courteously and closed the carriage door, and they were alone. Eve gazed sleepily out the window to her side, assuming that Valentine was not in the mood for talking. There was a sound like bells, the jangle of the reins, and a lurch as the carriage lunged into motion, taking them farther from her home with every hoof-fall. The thought frightened her for a moment: What if she didn't like her new home? But something touched her wrist, and she was distracted from her reverie.

It was Valentine's fingers, tracing the line of her wrist. "You're bleeding," he said, a wealth of displeasure in the words. "Why?"

_Bleeding?_ Eve thought.

Sure enough, when she glanced down at her hand there were dark blossoming stains on her white sleeve. Blood. Eve's memory recalled the image of Mother, her nails piercing her skin, and she realized.

"Mother," she tried to say, but a yawn interrupted her before she could finish.

Valentine seemed to know what she meant anyway. His expression became darker than the night sky outside as he gently inspected her wrist; turning it this way and that to see the extent of the damage. Eve leaned her head against the wall of the cab, her eyelids heavy, fighting to stay awake.

"It will have to wait until we reach the manor," Valentine told her, smoothly releasing her wrist.

That was the last straw for Eve.

The melodic sound of his voice was the last thing she heard, before sleep drew her into its clutches, and she fell asleep to the steady rock of the carriage.

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><p><strong>Well? What do you think?<strong>

**Tell me by REVIEWING!**

**P.S: She meets Jonathan next chapter! So excited! (*writes like crazy*)**

**Love, Fishie**


	2. Chapter 2: The Morgenstern Boy

**Hello Everyone!**

**Here is chapter 2! Sigh... I miss Valentine Morgenstern so much in the Mortal Instruments books... which is probably why I wrote this fic. LOL**

**Be prepared to meet Jonathan this chapter. Muahahaha!**

**Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN ANYTHING!**

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><p>There was a forceful jolt, and the dirt road beneath the carriage became a pathway of cobblestone.<p>

For the second time that morning, Eve was woken up. And she found that somehow, between the beginning of the trip and her waking, her head had drifted onto Valentine's side – though she supposed it hadn't bothered him too much, since he hadn't tried to nudge her away. She clenched her blue eyes shut – clinging to the last tendrils of sleep – but the unmelodious clip-clop of the horses' hooves and the bright sunlight blazing through the widows kept her from gliding back to her slumber, and she stirred restlessly against Valentine's arm.

He noticed her movement almost immediately.

Eve rubbed her sleepy eyes and gazed up at Valentine, only to see him already staring down at her. Pale sunlight streamed in from the open window beside him, catching the edges of his snow-white hair, and turning it into a nearly translucent halo. He looked very much like an angel in that moment, Eve thought – with his handsome marble-statue features and his pale coloring – if only it weren't for those fathomless black eyes.

Valentine turned toward the window suddenly and pulled the curtain father aside, dispelling her vision of angels.

"Eve," he said. "We've arrived."

_Arrived_?

It took a moment for his words to sink in, but when they did, Eve scrambled to sit up and looked expectantly out of the port-like window; instantly, Valentine's manor came into view.

The building was immense; much too great to be considered a mansion. It had vast, carefully maintained gardens sprawling to the front, and dark ivy climbed up the grey stone façade at the corners, reaching for the third story windows. Eve thought it was beautiful – the elegant, old-fashioned style of the architecture – probably because it reminded her of home.

_Her_ _old_ _home_, she reminded herself. _Her home with Mother and Father._

_This_ was her home now.

The cobblestone driveway curved gently, leading to the base of a sweeping stone staircase at the main entrance, and the turn pulled her against Valentine once more. Up close, she could see subtle touches of grey under his eyes, and Eve wondered if he had slept at all last night. Although it was strange to imagine Valentine sleeping, at all – the ordinary necessities of life, like eating and sleeping, seemed beneath him somehow.

There was an abrupt lurch, and the carriage stopped. Eve could hear the coachman jumping down from his place behind the cab, while the horses pawed restively at the ground, whinnying at the delay. A few moments later, the carriage door opened, revealing the fair-haired man from the night before. He nodded politely and stepped aside as his master emerged from the cab into the rich morning sunlight, and again Eve marveled at how graceful Valentine's movements were. He descended from the carriage as if he was treading fluid air. It barely seemed to be a great distance for him at all.

The coachman smiled slightly and offered his hand to her. "Would you like some help down, Miss Eve?" he asked politely.

_Miss Eve?_ She smiled and let him lower her to the ground. Miss Eve had a pleasant sort of ring to it.

Eve glanced around eagerly for Valentine once she touched ground, to see if he approved her new title as well, but he had already scaled the steps to the main entrance, seemingly unaware of her presence at all. He turned moments later, and regarded her with a mild sort of impatience. "Come along, Eve," he commanded.

He did not seem as charming as the night before, Eve noticed. And she told herself it was because of his lack of sleep.

With a quick thank-you to the coachman, she followed Valentine to the main-entrance of the manor house – a massive set of doors – made of a thick, dark wood and gilded in iron. They were strangely intimidating: partially because of their grand size.

She felt like a field mouse beside them.

In a moment of curiosity, she wondered how heavy those massive doors were. Then Valentine gripped the sturdy handle and pulled them open, the Rune-scars on his hands glimmering like silver threads. He seemed to do it with ease, but then, _everything_ that Valentine did was seemingly done with ease. So she supposed that the doors were very heavy indeed as she walked into the foyer after him.

It was very cool there in the manor, unlike the sun-kissed air outside. Polished marble floors gleamed under the lofty, vaulted ceilings. And although it was beautiful building, Eve did not think it looked anything like a home. Father had once told her that a home was where you placed the things you loved – like your family and your most beloved possessions – but there was nothing in this house that showed what Valentine loved; and a place so elegant and pale and cold and full of shadow could certainly never be called a home.

The thought of her father made Eve freeze stiff, as if the cold from the house had seeped into her bones.

_Father_.

_Where was Father?_

In an instant she recalled the night before; the look on Father's face, the way he had seemed to break when she left with Valentine. It had been a shock to see him so full of misery. And to think the one who was causing him pain…was her.

It had been _her_.

_She_ had made him hurt.

Her throat burned as she glanced up at Valentine. Eve had thought she had made the right choice the night before: Valentine was the truth-teller. Father had been the one who lied to her. Then why did everything feel so wrong? Why hadn't Father tried to keep her? Why had he given her away?

She glanced away hastily as Valentine met her gaze. His dark eyes seemed to shred through her, as if he could see things within her that she never even knew existed. Like she was as transparent as glass.

"Eve," Valentine began –

But he didn't finish.

A figure rocketed down from the top of the staircase and Valentine's attention shot directly to him.

It was a boy, Eve saw.

He was handsome, perhaps, like a little prince – and about her age – with Valentine's pale hair and shadowy eyes. But his black clothes bleached away any of the color in his skin; making him look like a ghost as he rushed swiftly down the stairs.

Valentine didn't smile, but he seemed pleased to see him, nonetheless. "Jonathan," greeted Valentine.

_Jonathan?_ wondered Eve quietly. _This was Valentine's son?_

"Father," the boy cried breathlessly. "You're back! You won't believe what I've learned since you left. One of the tutors showed me how to –" He screeched to a halt halfway down the marble steps – as soon as he caught a glimpse of Eve. His tumbled hair fell loosely over his forehead, unable to hide his wide gaping eyes.

He looked absolutely mortified.

"What in the world is _that_?" Jonathan snapped.

Eve flinched. There was an unchildlike arrogance in the way he spoke – like he was an aristocrat and she was nothing but a commoner – but he compelled her somehow. The way fire compelled ice.

Valentine, however, did not look swayed by his son's bad behavior. "_She_ is a _girl_, Jonathan," he said patiently. "Surely you must know that –"

"Oh, I _know_ it's a _girl_," Jonathan retorted. "What is it doing _here_?"

Eve scowled at him. Somehow, within less than a minute, she stopped imagining Jonathan Morgenstern as a prince, and had begun to think of him as more of a toad.

With a cold frown, Valentine studied the little boy on the staircase; a cruel sort of intrigue glittering in his eyes. Apparently he had not appreciated Jonathan's back-talk.

"Jonathan, meet Eve," Valentine explained icily. "She will be living with us from now on."

"_What?_" Jonathan screeched.

Valentine leisurely scaled the steps; not pausing – or even bothering to _look_ – as he past his son. Jonathan gaped up at him silently, his eyes glued to his father, but Eve couldn't work up the courage to move. She stood frozen to the foyer floor.

Valentine reached the top of the stairs and called to her again. "Eve. Come."

She paused.

But Valentine kept moving, just expecting her to follow. Jonathan shot her a glare like daggers, and before she could blink, he had wheeled around and hurried after his father.

Eve saw that momentary flash of challenge in his eyes and found her courage to move: She rushed behind him, taking the stairs as quickly as she could without stumbling. But by the time she reached the top of the staircase, Jonathan and Valentine were already distant, retreating figures, their voices ringing clear throughout the echoing corridor.

"_Father_," Jonathan was whining. "Why would you want a _girl_? We don't _need_ a girl, Father! You have _me_!"

Eve broke into a sprint, her shoes padding softly on the hard stone floor. There were paintings hanging on the walls at intervals, but they blurred into puddles of color as she ran past them. Within moments, she had caught up to Jonathan and Valentine.

"Are you _questioning_ me, Jonathan?" Valentine replied. His voice sounded a little dangerous to Eve's ears, and the line of his shoulders was tight, but Jonathan didn't seem to notice or care.

"You left for weeks to go be with that other boy," he pleaded on. "– and now you bring _this_ back home? She's going to be nothing but a burden, Father! I don't _want_ her here!"

_Other boy?_ Eve wondered._ Valentine had never mentioned anything about another boy…_

"It doesn't matter what you _want_," Eve replied out-loud. "Valentine is your father, isn't he? _He_ is the one that makes the decisions – not you."

Both Morgensterns stopped dead and turned to face her; Valentine with a look of almost-liking, and Jonathan with a look of sour hatred. Eve shrunk away from the sudden wave of attention, the silence stifling her…

And all of a sudden, Jonathan seemed to explode.

"_Don't you __**dare**__ tell me what to do!_" he seethed, storming toward her. "_You're nothing but a girl! A useless, stupid girl!" _His cheekbones were flushed a furious shade of red, his fists tightened into balls at his sides. It made his eyes seem very black indeed. "_You don't belong here!" _he roared on._ "You're just a weakling! What good could you ever be to either of us?_"

Eve had no idea what to do.

The only person who ever got _this_ angry with her was her mother, and when that happened Eve usually stayed silent and let her rage. But this boy wasn't her Mother. He got under her skin, in a way that no other person had. He made her furious, with his snappy retorts and his arrogance.

She wanted to prove him _wrong_:

She wasn't useless. She wasn't stupid. She wasn't weak.

She _did_ belong.

Eve stepped forward, and with unprecedented force, punched Jonathan square on the nose.

Jonathan hadn't expected it at all. The blow rocked him off balance, and in less than a moment he had fallen to the ground, parked ungracefully on the floor. He cradled his wounded nose with a sort of damaged pride, shock written all over his face.

And Eve recoiled, staring at her hand as if it was something foreign to her, then glanced back to Jonathan. He was sitting on the floor still, paralyzed by disbelief. For a moment they both gaped at each other, both astonished beyond speaking. Then Jonathan broke the silence.

"_Father!_" he cried. "_Father, she _hit_ me!_"

He glanced toward his father, then, suddenly, the surprise in Jonathan's face faded. Eve assumed it was going to be replaced with an anger of some kind; but it wasn't anger. Instead, he looked at her with the most bizarre expression; a cruel sort of glee.

Somehow, this joy filled her with more terror than the raging had.

_Ha, ha_, his glittering eyes seemed to say. _My Father's going to beat you senseless when he sees this._

Valentine, however, didn't look inclined to beat her in the least. He eyed his son with an indifferent expression, but Eve could see humor tugging at the corner of his pale lips. "She had every right to hit you, Jonathan," said Valentine simply.

Jonathan's grin widened and he sprung to his feet, his eyes sparkling like jet. Eve noticed that he didn't look very wounded at all, despite the trickle of blood that ran from his nose. "But of course you are going to punish her, Father," Jonathan insisted eagerly. "Well aren't you? She hit me, after all."

"You had best hope that I don't punish _you_ for your little display, Jonathan," Valentine countered dangerously.

Jonathan's smile dropped, replaced by a look of total disbelief. "_Whaaat?_" he demanded.

"It seems to me that Eve has a better grasp of obedience than you do," his father explained with a shrug. "Perhaps it will do you some good to finally have a woman in the house again."

Without another word, Valentine began walking again; just as he had before, not looking back, not hesitating. Eve trotted behind him proudly, taking the opportunity to stick her tongue out at the stunned Jonathan.

Jonathan saw her gesture and seethed, like a boiling, red-hot kettle.

The way he was glaring at her made Eve think he might dart forward again and pummel her – but somehow he didn't. In fact, he didn't do much of anything. His expression closed suddenly, perhaps – like a book clapped shut – and he wiped his bleeding nose with the back of his fist. Other than that, though, Jonathan was quite still indeed. So still that he didn't even seem angry anymore.

But his eyes were alive, sparking like lightening.

Eve quickened her pace, sticking close to Valentine as they continued walking down the corridor. Jonathan was trailing behind them like a storm-cloud, and every nerve in her body warned against it. Father had given her tutors to teach her how to fight, how to defend herself, as all Nephilim had to at some point, and her first lesson had been a simple one: never let enemies approach you from behind. Behind is your blind spot.

And Jonathan was her enemy.

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><p><strong>Sorry that was such a short chapter guys.<strong>

**To be honest, I was going to add a halarious side-story in this chapter (about Eve finding out about marriage), but I decided not to. It seemed to detract from the meeting of Jonathan and Eve somehow. Maybe I will post it some time if you _REVIEW!_**

**P.S. Someone asked me in the comments if Eve and Jonathan were going to grow up slowly or if i am going to cut to a certain age in the next few chapters.**

**The answer is that they will, BUT, I want to do the occasional one-shot chapter when they are young again.**

**SO IF YOU HAVE ANY FUNNY/CUTE IDEAS FOR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS I WILL TRY TO PUT THEM IN IF POSSIBLE!**

**P.S.S...Next chapter might make you cry... Just giving you a heads-up...**

**Love, Fishie**


	3. Chapter 3: Left Behind

**Hi again!**

**Wow, I wrote this chapter really quickly... Phew... My fingers must be made of steel now... (flexes fingers)**

**I really loved writing this Chaper so I hope you enjoy it, (and hopefully it doesn't seem to rushed, considering I speed-wrote it.)**

**I think I'm going to try writing smaller chapters more frequently, instead of writing bigger chapters once every ice-age... Maybe I will write more that way...**

**Anyhoo... Enjoy!**

**DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS! (Actually, all of the characters in this chapter _ARE_ mine. Scratch that..)**

**DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS!**

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><p>Eve sat at the window-ledge, a book balanced precariously on her lap.<p>

It was a large volume, without a title, bound in dark leather and capped with brass at the corners; but one look inside the aged pages told you the name – in thick, elegant scroll: _Paradise_ _Lost_, written by John Milton.

She had read this book, and had reread it, and had reread it again at Valentine's command: But, of course, this wasn't the only book she had read in the last six months.

Since she had come to live with Valentine, she had been pushed cogently to excel in her studies: she had already read through Dante, Dickens, John Donne, and Milton, of course, although she had a special soft-spot for Jane Austen's books – especially _Pride and Prejudice_. It was charming to think that beneath Mr. Darcy's sullen, brooding exterior was a true and noble heart, capable of great love.

Eve had tried to apply those characteristics to Jonathan, once; and as soon as she had asked him about it, Jonathan had snapped at her for being a 'stupid-little-girl' again and had stormed off to the stables. Although, since she had punched him on that first day, he hadn't ventured to call her weak anymore.

Valentine called it 'progress.'

Eve called it 'mutual hatred.'

– Not that Valentine was around much to hear it.

He was constantly gone, seeing the mysterious 'other-boy' that Jonathan despised so vehemently. And when Valentine _was_ with them, he was caged in his office, doing whatever-it-was-that-Valentine-did. She didn't know. Eve had stopped asking questions very early on, when she found out that she never got a concrete answer from _anyone_ on the matter. Which wasn't too bad, she thought. But it _did_ leave a lot of room for the imagination.

With a soft thud, she closed _Paradise_ _Lost_, taking in the afternoon sunlight dancing through the window. It had been so long since she had been able to go outside: to just wander through Idris's green, whisping meadows and taste the warm, clear air; but it was an impossibility.

She had her studies, Valentine said.

But she had always had studies. She had been given tutors and lessons ever since she could remember, although they weren't from her father's doing as she had thought before. She had learned since that the instructors had been hand-picked by Valentine. But she had been given the freedom to roam the gardens and fields, then.

Now?

Now she was poised on her second-storey window-seat, staring out at the view which was the little consolation she had left.

Eve toyed with her long golden hair, watching the curls spring back when she pulled them straight.

Sometimes she missed her old home, so badly that it was an almost physical pain in her chest. Other times, she barely noticed it was gone. But Father always somehow remained, stamped into her heart like a wax seal.

No matter how many months past, no matter how many _years_ past, he would always be there.

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><p>Emile asked every day, just like he had asked every day for the last six months.<p>

"Minerva? Are you sure this is all the mail there is?"

His voice was choked, desperate, exhausted.

Minerva smiled coldly and set down the tea-trey next to him. "Yes, darling," she told her husband evenly. "That was all the mail there was. I got today's post myself."

"There was absolutely nothing more?"

"No. Nothing."

"Oh." Something in his expression shattered at her answer, deep in his eyes, and she was secretly glad.

Not that she needed to bring him tea, of course – there were plenty of servants that could do _that_ – but Minerva always got a measure of satisfaction from watching her husband suffer. Especially now.

Valentine had been all _too_ generous with Emile; even offering an address – the Wayland manor-house – to which Emile could write if he had any questions about Eve: The first month Emile had tried to bide his time, tried to occupy himself with work and company so that he would forget his missing daughter, but by the time the second month rolled by, he was writing frantically to Valentine – twice, even three times a day – begging for Eve's return. Luckily, the staff feared her more than they feared Emile, and the maids brought her the letters at once, before they could be sent through the post.

Pitiful things they were, too. The pleas of a bleeding heart, so foolishly broken.

She had half a mind to send the stupid letters – Valentine would probably just laugh at his pathetic request anyway and respond with an absolute 'no,' but a guess was not good enough for her.

She had not forgotten they way Emile had insulted her that night – in front of Valentine, no less. He had thought he would make a fool out of her, but as the saying goes, 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.'

Minerva had taken every letter from then on and burned them, claiming all the while that they were being delivered with the rest of the mail. And Emile had _believed_ her, even when the weeks turned to months, and there was still no response from Valentine. It was an ingenious plan, really.

It had been then that Emile began to deteriorate. Within the five weeks afterwards he was a hollow shell of a man: He lost a disturbing amount of weight. He wouldn't eat. He wouldn't see friends, and beneath his blue eyes were purplish bruise-like crescents. Insomnia, the doctors said. A lack of sleep.

It made Minerva almost grin, just thinking about it.

And even if Emile _had_ received a letter from Valentine, (which he wouldn't have – she would have made sure to burn that too), he wouldn't have even been able to open it without a knife of some kind. He had developed the anxious habit of biting his nails; so badly that his fingertips constantly bled. Now they were bandaged and totally useless.

With a flick of her red hair, Minerva turned and strutted out of the room.

No. No one would ever get the best of her. Not with the amount of money that Valentine had traded for Eve. She could bathe in a pool full of diamonds until she was dead, and still have money to spare for a gold, jewel-incrusted funeral pyre, besides. If only it weren't for Emile. Clave law stated that the man controls finances, and her husband was hardly willing to spend his 'blood-money' as he called it, on anything – much less for something _pleasurable_.

"Minerva – wait –"

It was Emile's voice.

With a twinge of curiosity, she turned and looked back into the parlor. "Yes, darling?"

Emile was sitting by the crackling fireplace, looking forlorn.

It had been his looks – his looks and his money that had made her willing to marry him in the first place. But he didn't seem beautiful to her anymore – not with the week's worth of beard that he hadn't bothered to shave – not with those pitiful blue eyes that filled her with disgust.

Suddenly, he stood and walked over to her, his step almost tentative. Did he really want to talk to her? And if so, why now? A bud of guilt, admittedly a small one, formed in her chest.

He stopped immediately in front of her, and looked down at her with a shy, tired smile; Minerva thought it must have been the first time that he had ever smiled at her in their marriage… And then he abruptly bent down, cupping her face in his hands, and kissed her lips.

She reeled.

Emile _never_ kissed her. _Never_.

The last time he had even touched her was when – when they decided to have Eve. There had been nothing before that, and nothing had followed. So why? Why then? Why would he kiss her like that?

That bud of guilt inside her blossomed into agony as Emile's soft mouth pressed down on hers, and Minerva stiffened and turned away.

Emile had taken it as rejection, she could tell it from his eyes, but he kept on smiling gently anyway. "Thank-you," he said quietly. "Thank-you for caring about me, Minerva… I know… I was never your first choice for a man, but… we… we always tried, didn't we?"

She stared at him.

Was – was this an apology?

Minerva cleared her throat, averting her green eyes. "Argyle Silverspear is coming over any time now," she reminded him tightly, naming one of the only people Emile allowed himself to see. Emile and Argyle had been friends since infancy and they had been _parabatai_ for decades: it would have been unnatural if Emile hadn't let Argyle see him.

"Right," he replied, a little awkwardly, sweeping back a bit of her fiery hair. "I'll be in the office upstairs."

Minerva let him slip away without question. She was afraid that if she stopped him, he would surprise her with even _more_ of his erratic behavior, and she wasn't sure how much of this strange new Emile she could bear. With a nervous twitch of her mouth, she crossed the room and tried to pour herself a cup of tea from Emile's untouched pot, but before she could put her hand to the silver handle, there was a knock on the door, and she recovered herself.

_Argyle_, she thought. _Thank the Angel_.

She despised Argyle Silverspear: And it would help her to remember just how much she hated Emile.

After all, one simple apology wasn't going to make up for her six-month's worth of humiliation. She knew better than that. She had more _self-respect_ than that. After a quick inspection in the mirror above the mantelpiece, Minerva hurried through the marble foyer and opened the thick doors.

Not surprisingly it was Argyle standing in the afternoon sun, his black hair turning a brilliant array of colors in the bright light. He shot her a look of barely concealed dislike as he gave her a polite smile. Well, at least he was civil to her now. He had disagreed from the beginning with her betrothal to Emile, and had always blamed her for Emile's unhappiness in the relationship, and with Emile's recent deterioration of health…She was the obvious culprit, in his mind.

As ridiculous as _that_ was. It was not as if she could have chosen any different. Her family had picked her husband for her before she was even ten years old.

No, if _she_ could have chosen, she would have preferred someone else entirely; a taller someone, with fair silver hair and eyes as dark as the night sky…

"Minerva," Argyle greeted courteously.

She glared at him, trying to slice him apart with her eyes. "I suppose you are here to see, Emile?" she hissed.

He frowned_. Well, I'm hardly here to see __you_, his face seemed to say.

Irritably, she spun around and sulked back into the foyer, not waiting for him to say the words. She was rarely ever in a good enough mood to make pleasant small-talk with people she reviled, and this certainly wasn't one of those moments.

Argyle followed behind her into the house and shut the door.

"He's in the upstairs study," she began.

And was cut off.

There was a scream. Good Lord she would never forget that scream – coming from one of the maids on the second level of the house – and in a flash of movement Argyle had darted past her and up the staircase, his pine-colored eyes wide with terror. It wasn't until she gave a long, wistful glance at parlor (and her waiting tea) that she finally trudged up the steps after him.

The scene laid out before her was like that of a horror film.

One of the maids was cowering away from an open doorway, her hand clamped forcefully over her mouth. At first Minerva was irritated: the room wasn't anything to be afraid of. It had been Eve's old room. It hadn't been used in months… But Argyle stood in that doorway, having reached the scene before Minerva herself had, and was staring into the room with his stiffened back turned to her. The gesture annoyed Minerva somehow, as if she was being excluded from some crucial event of some sort.

"What is it?" she snapped.

She stormed up behind him and tried to peer over his shoulder, without much success. Argyle was a good foot and a half taller than she was, but she did see something perhaps, inside the shadowy space. A spattered stain across one wall – that looked as black as ink in the curtained room…

In an instant she seized the maid and dug into her apron pocket, searching for a candle. She _did_ find a candle, and a new match there as well, and with a shove Minerva released the petrified girl and set the stupid stick of wax alight.

With a snicker of disdain, she shoved past Argyle into the doorway, holding her little flame high. "_By the Angel_, you two," she sneered. "What are you so afraid of? You both look as if you've seen a –"

Minerva broke off.

Her light touched the wall, and instead of showing black like it had before, it showed a spray of red.

Blood.

_Oh, God._

Emile ran through her mind: his sudden kiss… the strange words that he had only just said to her…

'_Thank you, Minerva.' _

'_We always tried, didn't we?'_

'_I'll be in the office upstairs.'_

But he was a liar.

He hadn't meant to go to the office at all.

Instantly she turned away – before she could see anything else – her hand covering her mouth. She didn't need to look inside, anymore.

She knew what she would see.

The second level looked over the first, and Minerva gripped one of the banisters, fighting against a wave of vertigo. She knew she should have been upset, or that she should have cried, or that she should have been horrified beyond speech – but she felt none of these things.

It was a sick sort of relief that coursed through her veins, instead.

_Emile's gone_, she thought_. By the Angel, he's dead_. _He's committed suicide…_

And then:

_My God, I'm rich._

* * *

><p>Argyle took command of the situation immediately.<p>

"Minerva," he barked. "Get me a stele. _Now_."

She didn't try to argue, which surprised him. Minerva very rarely did anything without some back-handed sneer of some sort. He caught the sight of her slender figure retreating down the stairs, and then rushed into the room.

Part of him, the part of him that had been trained to be a medic, told him that he should open the heavy curtains. The better visibility he had, the better he could treat Emile's wounds. But the part of him that was Emile's friend knew what he would find, and he couldn't bring himself to see it.

After all, this was the room that Emile had picked for the nursery.

Argyle remembered well how overjoyed Emile had been when he revealed that Minerva was pregnant: He had invited him over personally to deliver the news. He had shown him the room that would soon become his child's nursery. He had told him the baby names: _Acadia_, he had said, if the baby was a girl – it had been Emile's mother's name – but Minerva would always cut in that _she_ had to give birth to the creature, and that _she_ was going to give the child the name _Eve_.

And then a few months later, when the news leaked out that Minerva had miscarried, Emile had acted so strangely about it; locking Minerva and himself up in his manor for several months afterwards. Argyle had put that behavior down to grief at the time. He hadn't tried to pry… But he had had to watch Emile decline mentally over these last seven years. Only recently had he finally been invited over again… But Emile had never gotten over that; over the loss of his child.

And during these past few months, things had gotten progressively worse.

Argyle should have known something like this would happen.

"Emile?" He darted to the bed in the center of the room and dropped to his knees. "Emile?"

His voice cracked, but the bloodied figure lying on the mattress didn't seem to respond, and Argyle feared that his friend was already dead. Then there was the strangest sound; a thin sort of chuckle, and he had never been so happy to be wrong.

"I didn't know you would be here so quickly, Argyle," Emile whispered.

It was hard to imagine that this slight, raspy voice was Emile's. When he thought of Emile, it was always accompanied by the memory of his smile, the kind humor in his eyes, and the strong heartiness of his laugh.

"We're getting a stele," Argyle told him. "We are going to heal you, Emile."

The shadowy figure moved, shaking his head slightly. Argyle could see in the dimness that there was a dark gash across Emile's neck, and his friend's blonde curls were plastered to his neck with blood.

"I don't want to be healed," Emile said weakly.

A sob broke free from Argyle's chest.

"_Why_?" he demanded. "_Why don't you want to be healed_?"

_You cannot go_, he wanted to scream instead. _Who will be there to talk to me? Who will be there to understand my thoughts? Who will laugh with me? Who will be my parabatai?_

_Dammit. Where was Minerva?_

Emile coughed feebly. "Because… Because I failed her, Argyle."

"Failed who?"

"Eve."

_Eve?_

That was the name his daughter would have been, if it hadn't been for the miscarriage. But that was seven years ago. Was Emile hallucinating?

"Emile –" Argyle tried to say – but he was cut off.

"I should have fought harder for her.," Emile said. "I should have never let her go with him. He… I could have stopped him somehow… I could have tried… I'm… I'm a bad father…"

"Who could you have stopped, Emile?"

Argyle knew that he was out of his mind… but if he could just keep Emile talking long enough… keep him hanging on long enough…

"Valentine," said Emile.

Argyle shook his head sadly. "Valentine is dead, Emile. He killed himself after the Uprising four years ago. He burned the Fairchild manor to the ground."

There was a silence, and Emile's eyes gleamed wetly. He almost thought that there was something in them; some kind of secret that lay hidden.

Then slowly, Emile slid his fingers across the coverlet, and gripped Argyle's hand. He shuddered as their skin came in contact: there was a slice across Emile's wrist too, sticky and warm where the wide, bloody wound had begun to dry – but he was not horrified enough to draw his hand away.

"Argyle," Emile said. "Promise me something. Promise me that you will find Eve for me."

He choked, knowing that there was nothing to look for, but he couldn't bring himself to refuse Emile. Not now.

"I swear by the Angel," Argyle vowed.

Serenely, with a smile, Emile eased back into the mattress. It was a wretched sort of relief that Argyle felt then. He had not seen Emile smile in the last six months.

And then the light went out of his friend's blue eyes.

And Emile died.

He sobbed huskily:

Only once.

He was Argyle Silverspear, after all. He was a Shadowhunter – and a medic, no less. Death should not have disturbed him. But he did not try to fight the cascade of tears as he stood and crossed Emile's mutilated wrists over his lifeless chest.

"_Ave_ –" he choked. "_Ave atque vale_."

_Hail and farewell_.

_Goodbye my friend._

It seemed like hours, hours of stretched out silence, before he came to his senses, and he stared around the room – the room that would have been Emile's daughter's room – the room that had so quickly become Emile's prison.

He had been so heart-broken about loosing her; this child he had never even learned to know. Argyle himself had never married nor had children. He supposed it was something he would never understand.

But it seemed odd, nonetheless. That he would want to end himself seven years after the fact…

Argyle straightened suddenly, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes. A feeling of dawning panic ran through his veins.

It was odd that Emile would mention Valentine. Everyone knew Valentine was dead.

It was odd that Emile had stopped inviting him over for the last seven years, and then had suddenly let him come and go whenever he pleased.

It was odd that he called his daughter Eve, when that wasn't even the name he had wanted for her.

Argyle abruptly spun around, and caught sight of a chest of drawers against one wall. Carefully, he stepped toward the armoire, his fingers gripping one of the drawer-handles, Emile's blood still staining his forearm.

He was being ridiculous, he told himself. He was going mad; but sanity had nothing to do with his reasoning. He had to check at least, for Emile's sake.

Argyle tugged open the drawer –

And fought a wave of nausea.

Inside there were neatly folded clothes – dresses – made to fit a girl of six or seven. He mentally counted back the years and the months… The child would have been born in early spring… She would have just turned seven…

When the numbers began to add up, he clenched his teeth together, fighting the urge to scream.

Emile hadn't been delusional: He had been right.

His daughter was out there somewhere. And Valentine…

There was a sound from downstairs; footsteps heading up to the second floor.

Argyle hurriedly shoved the drawer closed and returned to Emile's side, trying to stay calm.

He wouldn't tell the Clave. He wouldn't even confront Minerva with his knowledge.

But he would find Eve – even if it killed him.

* * *

><p><strong>Well, how did you like it?...<strong>

**Like I said before it was kinda rushed so don't be too angry with my bad writing... NEXT CHAPTER I GET TO WRITE THE GROWN-UP JANATHAN AND EVE! WOOHOOO! I AM SO EXCITED! (Or I may write that funny one-shot chapter about Eve... I'm undecided...)**

**Stay tuned folks! Next chapter is gonna be a good one either way!**

**Love,**

**Fishie**


	4. Chapter 4: Love Is A Demon

**Yay! *screams excitedly* Jonathan finally is here!**

**I was so excited to do this chapter, you have no idea... Ironically, the scenes that I really _want_ to do take me the longest to write... so you may have to wait a while for the next chapter... (Oops! Did I say that?) **

**Anyhoo... Just so you know... this chapter is based *****_10 YEARS AFTER THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER! JONATHAN IS 17, EVE IS 16... DON'T GET CONFUSED!*****_**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Mortal Instruments. Sorry.**

**P.S. Thank you so much to those who review every chapter... It makes me so happy!**

**P.S.S The quote below is actually from a song I heard. I don't usually use quotes, but since this chapter is kind of the beginning of the story, I thought it was important enough to deserve a quote. **

* * *

><p>"Wash the angels from your head,<p>

'Won't need them anymore.

Hide your heart under the bed,

And lock your secret drawer.

Love is a demon,

And you're the one he's coming for.

Oh my Lord."

- Jann Arden

* * *

><p>She stood in a small clearing, the forest circling around her.<p>

The sun hung low in the sky now. Shadows loomed already at the bases of the surrounding pine trees. There was the occasional sound – a bird's cry, a squirrel's quiet chittering, the whisper of the late winter breeze as it danced through the branches…

It was almost possible for her to believe that she was alone – but she knew, of course, that she wasn't.

_He_ was there.

She could feel it; ringing through her veins like adrenaline, the way it always did when he was near – there was no denying it – but along with the first thrill had come another; a feeling that had made her dizzyingly alert. The thrill of the hunt, of a challenge.

Normally, she was never the one that enjoyed fighting. She considered it a means of defense: a Shadowhunter's tool. It was as essential to her as breathing. But _he_ loved combat; and his desire for the fight seemed to bleed through his soul and into hers. She tensed herself expectantly, her knees bent – ready at any moment for action.

Suddenly, her ears seemed to prick up at a subtle noise – the sound of a tiny snapping twig behind her. There was a moment of silence, and she wondered if she was overreacting at the noise. It could easily have been a bear lumbering through the woods, she told herself. Occasionally she spotted them roaming the forest, newly awake from their hibernation.

But it wasn't a bear. Her instincts said as much.

Eve spun around, faster than light – but somehow not fast enough.

She saw a pale blur shoot out of the corner of her eye; and then there was a cracking impact, so shattering that she thought she might have sprinted into a brick wall – Or that a brick wall might have sprinted into _her_.

The air was hammered out of her lungs as his body contacted, hurling her backward. There was a feeling of weightlessness, of being airborne as gravity lost its control; and then a sharp, gruesome knock as her head struck the cold forest floor. Black pain blossomed at the back of her skull.

Eve sucked in a desperate breath, but to no avail. He had taken advantage of her moment of shock. His hard body bore down on hers, oppressively, forcing her deeper and deeper into the muddy, icy ground, making it difficult to breathe at all. She struggled for a moment then realized it was useless; he had pinned her arms to the ground – and when it came to strength and brute force, he was almost _always_ the victor – but it couldn't be over yet.

No. He would be disappointed if the fight was over that quickly.

Forcing her vision to clear, she ran her eyes over him, searching for a weak-spot in his guard. But to her dismay, the first thing she saw was his pale mouth hovering over her forehead, his perfect lips curled into a line of pure arrogance. She lost focus, swallowed with some difficulty, and tried to stop the blood from rushing to her face.

He was beautiful, she had always thought. Like a statue in a renaissance garden; pale, cold, and chiseled to perfection. Something exquisite meant to be placed on a pedestal and displayed. And having him this close to her, _touching_ her, was a delicious sort of torture.

Although she would _never_ have said it aloud.

The _last_ thing Jonathan Morgenstern needed was another reason to pet his own ego.

In an incredible burst of speed, Eve slipped her wrists out of his grasp and thrust him off of her. If her arms hadn't been plastered with slimy mud, it probably would never have worked; but Jonathan's strength was worthless unless he had a solid grip. He flew several feet backward and she spun to her knees, standing up as she saw him hit the ground; but his landing wasn't as awkward as hers had been.

He landed gracefully on his feet, crouched like a wild animal, ready to spring. With the intense sunset lighting, he really _did_ look savage: his dark clothes were tattered and filthy from an earlier struggle, his fair hair clung to his face, his skin glistened with sweat, and his eyes were gleaming, flashing with a deadly light. Eve thought for a moment of his tainted blood – the demonic influence running through his veins…

He snarled and pounced, but she had already expected it.

She sprung at him, like an animal herself, and they collided, mid-air. Jonathan may have been a bit stronger than she was, but Eve had had the better footing. Her force overpowered his and she flung them both towards a line of trees.

_A line of trees?_

Panic surged over her and she mentally cursed her stupidity. _Trees… branches… tree trunks…_ How could she have been so blind? One of them was going to hit a tree trunk and crack their skull open; and neither of them had a stele…

Eve clenched her eyes shut, bracing for impact. There was the grating whisper of branches scraping her arms as they flew through the column of pines; but then they had passed the trees, and Eve was momentarily glad. _We're not going to die_, she thought. _We're not going to die…_

Then Jonathan cursed. Eve's eyes flew open – and she stared.

_We're going to die_, she wanted to scream. _Oh God, we're going to die._

They had broken through the line of conifers, yes, but now, just beyond them, the flat ground had cut off; dropping off at an almost ninety degree angle to a ravine and a small valley below. For the first time since she had known him, Jonathan looked sincerely afraid for his life.

They began to plummet downwards, toward the mucky slope. "_Shit_," Jonathan hissed. "_Shitshitshitshitshit_ –"

But his words were cut off as they hit the rocky earth.

Thankfully, Jonathan was beneath her when they hit. As selfish as it sounded, he was more resilient when it came to getting injured. He absorbed most of the impact from their fall with surprising grace, and in a fraction of a moment, they were tumbling down the steep incline, gaining more and more speed with each second. Eve was suddenly aware of everything; the pain, her fear, the swirling rush of their movement. Sound blurred in her ears. Nothing was distinct; except of the thunderous pounding of Jonathan's heart. Or was it _her_ heart?

It was impossible to tell.

When they sparred together like this, the two seemed to become one.

One last jolt shook them and then they broke away from the slope. Suddenly, they were toppling over flat ground, instead of the madness of the ridge. Soft tufts of grass brushed her back instead of jagged, rock-strewn muck; the sounds of rushing water instead of the rush of their pulses. They seemed to roll for a dizzying eternity before they finally slowed down; gradually loosing speed until they came to a complete stop.

She was resting on top of Jonathan when the movement ended; glued to his chest, clutching at his grimy shirt-front for dear life. Her legs were laced together with his, she noticed; but she was too exhausted to draw away.

She could feel Jonathan's pulse running wild, slamming against his rib-cage through the wet, clinging fabric of his t-shirt. His breathing was shallow and erratic. Beneath her, his body was all tense, like a wound-up spring ready to snap. Even his arms circled around her like a vice, his callused fingers knotted desperately in her loose, golden hair –

Her hair. It must have come out of its pins when they fell down the slope, she thought…

But she couldn't find a reason to care. Not when she was tangled up in Jonathan Morgenstern.

For one surreal moment, she let herself stay there: listening to Jonathan's breathing get under control, letting the warmth of his body seep into her frosty skin. She was calm. Safe…

"Eve," Jonathan snapped. "I can't breathe with you on top of me. Get off."

Her blue eyes widened.

It was like being doused in ice.

She rolled off of him and onto her back hastily, trying to ignore the sharp pang of disappointment that flowered in her chest. But the soft grass was refreshing after the beating she had taken: Her pain had finally caught up with her body; and right then, she felt like one giant, throbbing bruise. And she smelt like a swamp.

Eve sighed.

The first thing she wanted when she got home was a long, hot shower. And she had to admit that the prospect of a warm dinner sounded good, too – although she wasn't looking forward to explaining to Valentine why she and Jonathan had come home dripping with scrapes and mud. A lecture was sure to follow, and she wasn't sure how long she could tolerate it. She wanted an _iratze_ first, to take care of the pounding in her head. Then maybe if they snuck through the servants' entrance, where Valentine wouldn't see them…

After another deep sigh, she peeked sidelong at Jonathan, her pleasant memory of being tangled in his arms seeming hopelessly distant.

He was glaring at her pointedly – with an 'I can't believe you just threw me down a ravine, you useless pain in the ass' look. His mouth was set, his black eyes narrowed and sharper than needles, but Eve smiled at him despite it all. He was alive, she told herself. He was unharmed. What more could she ask for?

His nose wrinkled in disgust, and she couldn't help but think that it looked unbearably cute.

"What?" he snarled, his eyes flashing. "What are you so happy about?"

Eve eased back into the grass, laughing up at the blood-red sky. "We both made it out in one piece. You should be happy, too, Jonathan."

"Speak for yourself." He sat up with a groan and rubbed his aching temples, his eyelids clenched shut. "I think I have a concussion," he complained.

"Liar." She picked a fistful of meadow-grass and flung it at him, grinning.

She was glad that there was grass, now. It had been months that she had never really seen green-anything. The ground had been blanketed with snow.

Jonathan aimed a petulant scowl at her, stood, and didn't pause to look back as he sulked off to a dense, bushy thicket. She got to her feet and followed him after a moment, wondering where in the world he was going and what he was doing. But there was purpose in his stride, and it gave her all the confidence she needed: Jonathan knew where he was, she thought. He knew what he was doing. Her limbs felt stiff and heavy whenever she moved, but she still managed to squeeze through the underbrush after him – and then suddenly, she realized where they were.

Jonathan had led her to a glade she knew very well. This had been their favorite summer hide-out when they were young. A little brook ran through the center of the clearing, babbling happily; and she knew that in the early afternoon, when the sun hit the trees just right, the whole scene could take on an almost magical air. But it didn't really seem magical at all, now; the late winter sunset-light painted everything a rich golden orange, the trees were bare as they had already shed their leaves… Why would Jonathan lead her here? Why now?

Eve spied a mossy felled tree trunk facing of the flowing creek, and sat on it with an inquisitive tilt of her head. She watched Jonathan as he stood at the bank, kicking off his black, mud-slicked boots.

_Why in the world would he do that?_ she wondered.

Then she got her answer.

Brazenly, Jonathan grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and peeled it off his back, exposing every bare inch of his filthy torso. She gaped at him for a moment, in absolute horror – Jonathan had never done _anything_ like this before. She had never even seen that much of a man in her _entire life. _How did she respond to that? – then Jonathan twisted around and caught sight of her open-mouthed disbelief.

Instead of doing the decent thing and looking away, he ran his eyes over her, softer than dark velvet, from head to toe. And when she _still_ didn't look away, paralyzed with horror, he took it as a victory. Jonathan turned back towards the brook, half-naked and smiling like the devil.

Eve choked out a little squeak and flipped around on the log, staring industriously at the trees and the brush. She was trying not to think about Jonathan and the brook – but it was requiring a lot more focus than it should have, she observed with some horror. Her cheeks had already flared several shades of red by this point and the _thought_ of her wanting to – _really_ wanting to… to look at Jonathan like that – made the color deepen all the more.

There was a splashing noise, and she could tell that he had waded into the creek. She wondered distantly if the water was cold, but she didn't dare ask. A low chuckle sounded behind her and then there was a momentary whish of movement as Jonathan threw something dark and mud-slicked beside her. It landed at her feet wetly, a grubby rumpled mess of fabric; his t-shirt. "Wash these for me, won't you?" he snickered.

Eve gasped. Part of her was too stunned to think anything, but the other part was confused by his words.

'_These'?_ Eve wondered._ What did he mean 'these'? He only had one shirt…What else could he possibly want her to wash?_

As if on cue, another whirl of noise caught her attention, and a second article of clothing dropped beside the first.

His pants.

Eve fought the urge to scream.

"By the _Angel_, Jonathan!" she hissed instead. "Don't you have _any shame_?"

He laughed audaciously. "Why?" Jonathan taunted. "Am I making you nervous, Angel-girl?"

She said nothing.

Partially because it was true.

After a moment's hesitation, she spun around and glared at him; wanting to prove him wrong. But Jonathan, however, didn't seem particularly impressed by her little display. He was in his element of control, she knew; waist deep in the flowing creek. Despite herself, she thought he looked immaculate, like a Greek demigod; and Jonathan seemed to know it as well. He eyed her with a thick, heavy gaze – the kind of look that made her wish she was wearing something else on top of her sticky muddy clothes. His lips curled up at the corner, his eyes flicking to his beautiful shirtless torso. His body was filthy, but she could see past the dirt to the lean muscle underneath, the impossibly flawless skin…

"See something you like?" Jonathan inquired.

Eve wanted to say no. Her entire being was yelling at her to say no.

But she had never been very good at lying.

"You're a jerk," she said, looking away.

Jonathan laughed. He gestured to his perfect bare chest, grinning amusedly. She wished he hadn't. His smile made her stomach knot even tighter than it was. "Don't be ridiculous," he told her. "_Every_ woman wants this."

She shot him a glare. "_I_ don't."

"Oh?" He turned away from her, then; splashing water up over his face and running his fingers through his tumbled hair. "And what is it that _you_ want, Eve?" he asked.

She paused.

For the last ten years of her life, she had been told what she should want. _Jonathan_, Valentine had always told her. She was born to be with _Jonathan_. She _wanted_ Jonathan – but she had never really thought much about if _she_ really liked him or not. It was simply a fact: One plus one was two, grass was green, and the sky was blue. She was meant for Jonathan. She loved Jonathan.

She watched thoughtfully as the dirty water threaded down his back like tears, exposing the flawless pale skin underneath – but then, maybe flawless wasn't the right word.

Jonathan's body was wrapped in scars. Some were as delicate as lace – like the rune-scars, the _iratzes_ – but there were others scars there too. Eve could see the long, crisscrossed marks running down the length of his back… _Whip-lashes_, Eve thought – and then she cringed. She had never been punished by Valentine before and she thanked the Angel that she always did as she was told.

"I have no idea what I want in a man," she told him finally. Sixteen seemed a little too young to be thinking about what she wanted in a life partner – especially when she didn't really have a choice in the matter anyway. "A Prince Charming, I suppose… I mean… don't _all_ girls want that? Someone tall and handsome to ride off into the sunset with?"

Jonathan sniffed his disapproval. Arrogantly, he turned back around and flicked his damp, silver-white hair to one side of his face. Eve noticed that he was moodily avoiding her gaze. "And I'm not a Prince Charming?" he demanded irritably.

"No," she answered evenly. His mood swings always got on her nerves. One minute he would be brimming with humor, and the next he would be telling her to go to hell. "You aren't."

Jonathan's pale eyebrows shot up, in one moment of pure surprise, and then the curtain of control dropped over his features, hiding what lay underneath.

"To each his own," he dismissed with an indifferent shrug. But there was certain tightness to his shoulders as he did it – the kind of stiff denial that told her he was less apathetic than he was letting on. "But enough chitchat," Jonathan said in a sharp tone. "I thought I told you to wash my clothes."

She stared at him blankly, annoyed. So that was it? He was just going to shut down now because she said something true – something he didn't like to hear? He was doing this to make her angry, Eve knew, but the comment still seemed to wiggle under her skin like a parasite. Why did he always have to be so difficult?

Jonathan seemed to sense her frustration, and put his sudden advantage to use. He snapped his fingers impatiently. "Chop, chop," he told her, adding tinder to her rage. "My clothes aren't going to clean _themselves_."

With a furious twitch of her mouth, Eve reached down, grabbed his clothes and stormed off. For a moment he gazed after her, wearing a cool grin of triumph – but that grin dissolved into bewilderment as she didn't move toward the brook at all – but away from the glade towards home.

She shoved through the brush, ignoring the pain of the scraping whipping branches.

"Eve?" She heard Jonathan say. "Eve!" His voice was uneven, uncertain, and it gave her a moment of satisfaction. This would teach him to order her around ever again. This world didn't revolve around Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern. He wasn't some god… Valentine was her master – not him. Jonathan was just – just…

She heard him cuss once and then there was a rustle from the thicket where she had just come. She didn't look back, she _couldn't_ look back; her own tiny flame of pride wouldn't let her, but Jonathan was in her line of vision soon enough.

"Alright, alright," she heard him say a little breathlessly. "I get your point. I was kidding about that 'wash my clothes' thing. Happy now?" He was marching at her side, and it looked like he was struggling to keep up, which was strange; she didn't feel like she was walking too fast. Maybe he was just breathless because he was freezing his butt off in the winter cold. The thought made her smile, in spite of her anger.

Nevertheless, she ignored him.

Jonathan growled. "Ok, Eve," he grumbled impatiently. "The joke's over. Give me my clothes back."

She turned her face away from him, trying in vain not to laugh. They had reached the crest of a small grassy hill, overlooking Valentine's estate; a pristine, gleaming stone manor with the stables with the orchard far to one side. They were approaching the manor from behind, and she assumed she _should_ have given Jonathan's clothes back then. But she was having too much fun. And Valentine probably wasn't home anyway. He was usually gone doing some thing or another.

She imagined Valentine seeing his son in such a state, started chuckling, and Jonathan immediately lost his temper.

"_Eve_!" he roared furiously. "This _isn't_ funny! Stopscrewingaroundand_ give me my clothes back!_"

When she didn't respond, he snarled and lunged at her, grabbing for his clothing, but she was too fast for him. She ducked away swiftly and began running to the manor, full-tilt. She could hear the pounding of Jonathan's footsteps behind her and laughed. They hadn't done anything this ridiculous since they were nine years old.

She reached the hip-height garden hedges and bounded over them, with Jonathan hot in pursuit. A moment later she was sprinting to the servants' entrance at the corner of the manor, a quaint little wooden door set into the stone façade. She swung into the doorway, swiftly, listening to Jonathan's cursing behind her. He was calling her every name in the book, as well as some vulgar creations of his own, she was sure, but for some reason, she could tell that he was grinning as he said it. Jonathan always loved a challenge – no matter what form it came in. They tore through the laundry-room, with huge hampers of clean unfolded sheets on either side of them. Jonathan grabbed one of the sheets as he passed, wrapping it around himself like a towel, to cover himself up – and it made Eve laugh all the more.

She was faintly aware of the fact that she was leaving slick, muddy footprints on the ground as she reached the staircase to the main floor. She glanced over her shoulder as she shot up the steps, trying to catch a glimpse of how ridiculous Jonathan looked, but the stairs curled as they ascended and she lost sight of him. Then Eve looked forward again, concentrating on the next steps ahead of her –

And stopped dead.

She careened to a halt, her face hardly a breath away from a looming wall of black – or at least that's what it looked like at the time. As her eyes ran up the towering form, she saw the darkness take on shape, and realized that what she was seeing wasn't a wall at all. It was a man, wearing a black suit jacket with a white shirt underneath; the clothes impeccably cut to fit the broad figure who wore them. Color drained from Eve's face as the dreadful information sunk in. After all, there was only _one_ person in the Morgenstern household who wore a suit.

"Eve," said Valentine. "I thought you would be here."

She winced, looking up finally into his face.

He was standing a few steps above her, which wasn't doing wonders for her conscience. He was tall as it was, and any extra height made him look absolutely terrifying, even if she wasn't in trouble, like she would be soon. His ascetic features loomed over her, his expression neutral. But she knew it wouldn't be that way for long if he saw Jonathan. She prayed that Jonathan would trip up the stairs and break his neck – anything – _anything_ to keep Valentine from seeing him… But some prayers were never meant to be answered.

"You're filthy, Eve," Valentine said again, his tone faintly curious. His eyes ran down her mud-slicked form, and it made her think – oddly – of the way Jonathan had looked at her back at the creek: Like she was being evaluated in some bizarre way. His features were strikingly similar to his son's, sharp and yet handsome. "Where were you?" Valentine glanced quickly over her shoulder. "And where is Jonathan? You were training together, weren't you?"

Eve cleared her throat, trying not to let her voice shake. "We were –"

But Valentine didn't get to hear where they had been.

She cringed as she heard the footsteps approaching behind her, followed by the familiar sound of Jonathan's voice, insistently calling out her name. Valentine looked past her curiously and Eve squeezed her eyelids shut, not wanting to see what was about to happen. She heard Jonathan stop suddenly; and then there was silence, only silence, that seemed to stretch out forever.

She peeled one of her eyes open, peeking up at Valentine. His face was like stone, glaring down at her in a way that made her wish she could melt into the floor. She cringed away and turned to look at Jonathan – and almost died of embarrassment. Jonathan was staring past her to his father, looking like he was staring down the barrel of a gun. Not that she could blame him. He looked absurd. He was wearing nothing but his muddy boots and a bed sheet; his eyes a bit too bright, his hair tumbled and messy – and _dripping_, she noticed. There was a puddle of murky creek-water at his feet. And then she heard Valentine's chilly voice, saying, "Eve, would you like to explain this?" and she didn't seem to see anything anymore.

Slowly, she swiveled back around to Valentine, fighting the urge to turn tail and run. His dagger-eyes peered at Jonathan's grimy clothes, still gripped in her hands, then to Jonathan, and then back to her. Eve immediately scrambled for words, but found none; probably because she was too busy trying not to blush in humiliation. She knew what Valentine would think they had been doing if she started blushing.

Her lips parted, trying to form some semblance of a response; then the words poured out of her mouth in a flood.

"I-it's my fault," she stammered. "He was – we were – we were training – in the forest – and then we, well, I sprung at him and then we – we went rolling down this hill-thing and we got all muddy and so Jonathan went to this creek – it was close by – so he could clean up and then…"

She felt like an idiot. She was usually so eloquent when she spoke with Valentine…

"And then _she _stole my clothes and took off," Jonathan snapped from behind her. "I tried to call her back but she wouldn't listen to me, so I had to chase after her."

She spun around and glared at him, sending her muddy tendrils of hair flying. _Traitor_, her eyes were saying.

But his father looked unsurprised by everything, though maybe the muscles in his jaw tightened ever so slightly. "Oh? And why did you have your clothes off in the first place, Jonathan?" Valentine questioned.

"Because I was in the creek," Jonathan defended. "She said that already."

There was a pause.

"Let me rephrase this," Valentine said icily. He closed his eyes, his fingertips pressed against his temples, as if fighting to keep composure. "Why did you have your clothes off _around Eve_ in the first place?"

Jonathan thought of the question for a moment; then shrugged.

"Why not?" he replied.

_Wrong answer_, Eve thought.

Valentine suddenly shot a glare at Jonathan; so venomous, that Eve was afraid he might kill his son right then and there on the stairs, but he snapped back his fury in an instant, seizing it under control. He glanced at her, his expression cold and unreadable.

"Eve," he said in a frighteningly calm voice. "Come with me. And you," he added, throwing a sharp look at Jonathan. "We will talk about this later."

She nodded, looking down at her feet as Valentine turned around and treaded up the steps. Almost without thinking, she moved to follow, but was pulled back by something on her arm. She looked down and was surprised to see that it was Jonathan gripping her wrist; his fingers strangely pale and clean against her filthy skin. Something gleamed on his forefinger, she saw – a band of weathered silver – the Morgenstern ring.

"Eve," he said again.

Her eyes flicked up to Jonathan's face, trying to ignore the fact that he was beautiful and half-naked and real and standing in front of her. His fair hair clung to his forehead, to his temples – water droplets beaded on his skin, glistening like diamonds. It was like he was staged there, too perfect to be genuine. He studied her for a long moment, with such intensity that she wondered if he was about to scream at her for getting him in trouble, but then his mouth curled into a smirk, and the affect was like that of sunlight breaking through storm-clouds.

_Finally_, Eve thought. _A smile_.

Jonathan chuckled quietly, shaking his damp head. It sent wet slivers of water flying everywhere.

"You're absolutely ridiculous, you know that?" he whispered; a mischievous something glinting in his black eyes. He was a couple steps below her, looking up at her through his pale eyelashes. It made Eve want to blush again.

But before she could respond, Jonathan seemed to catch himself. His smile faded slightly and he took his clothes from her hands, gesturing with his chin for her to follow behind Valentine. _Go_, his eyes seemed to say. _You'll get us both in more trouble if you don't._

She opened her mouth to say something – she had no idea what – but her body had different ideas. Her legs turned her slowly around and marched her up the curling staircase after Valentine. But before she could pass the corner, she glanced back at Jonathan, as if her eyes were magnetically drawn to him.

The last thing she saw was him standing there, his black eyes blazing with humor and something else as he watched her scale the steps and disappear.

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><p><strong>Sooo... How'd you like it?<strong>

**Next Chapter we are going to have some other MI characters popping up... As well as someone new called Jada... (Heheh...)**

**P.S. Don't go rolling down steep hills with cute boys. It usually doesn't turn out well.**

**Love, Fishie**


	5. Chapter 5: Jada

**Wow... **

**Remember when I said that this chapter was going to be long wait? Well, I guess I lied... (**GASP!**) On the flip side, this chapter is extreemely short, and it doesn't include any of the very exciting stuff I was going to put in this chapter, but I decided that I should divide this chapter up, so it doesn't get too confusing. (The next chapter is _COMING SOON!_ Don't worry!)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments.**

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><p>Valentine hadn't said a single word as she followed him up the stairs to the main floor, leaving Eve feeling icy and distant the entire time. He had ordered her up to her room tersely once they had entered the foyer, using as few words as possible, and Eve guessed that it had been five minutes of waiting in her silent chambers since then. She sat on her king-size bed, running her eyes over the rich crimson velvet in the armchairs at her side, studying the detail carved into the smooth, pale, stone fireplace in the far corner, but her mind kept traveling back to Jonathan. To the way he had smiled when he said she was ridiculous.<p>

It made her heart flutter, inexplicably.

With a groan, Eve flopped back onto her bed, ignoring the fact that she was still a dirty, sopping mess. _He doesn't care about you_, she wanted to scream at herself. _He doesn't care! _But then another silky voice would interrupt the first, saying, _Maybe he does…Don't you remember the way he looked at you in the staircase?_

But Eve knew that the first voice was right. She had been about as curvaceous as a plank of wood until about six months ago, and then as soon as she had gotten what her tutor Jada called a 'womanly silhouette,' Jonathan had suddenly been very willing to talk to her, indeed.

Eve knew exactly what Jonathan wanted, and it didn't have anything to do with love at all.

_But why did he have to **smile** at her like that?_

She rolled onto her stomach restlessly, grabbing one of the silky pillows at the head of her bed. She probably had about a dozen of them there, but this specific one was fringed with gold tassels that she could easily fumble with while she thought. It was comforting in a bizarre way, even though she left dirty smears where her filthy fingers touched the pillow.

Eve sighed.

It was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous that Valentine expected them to be married in just over a year. She would be seventeen in a couple months, Jonathan was almost eighteen: In one year they would both be adults. And then as soon as she turned eighteen herself…

She shuddered; the thought of being married to Jonathan filling her with a mixture of dread and exultation.

He was impossible to love most of the time, after all, and his condition seemed to get progressively worse, but there were some times when she could see glimpses of him, like earlier in the staircase, and she could imagine that things were different… That he didn't have demon blood in him at all. That he was normal. And the thought filled her with so much anticipation and joy that she thought she would burst at the seams.

_That_ was the Jonathan she cared about, she told ehrself. And even if she only saw him in flashes, she didn't care. A piece of Jonathan was better than all of anyone else.

Normally, she wouldn't have even _dreamed_ about something like that, but Valentine had been mentioning to her lately about a new treatment he was thinking of – a way to reverse the affects of the demon blood in Jonathan, and Eve had begun to _hope_ again, that maybe…

Eve suddenly grimaced and hurled her pillow to the marble floor, groaning for the second time that evening.

What was she thinking? She hadn't even _kissed_ Jonathan yet, let alone talked to him about marriage. He hadn't even shown any real romantic interest in her. _Ever_. And there she was, thinking about the inner-workings of his _soul_…

There was a sharp knock at the door, and Eve almost jumped out of her skin.

She quickly slid off her mattress and got to her feet, wondering who in the world would be at her door at this time of night, then the insistent rapping came again and she was forced to respond.

"Come in," Eve called, smoothing down her tangled hair.

But when she saw who opened the door, Eve knew her feeble attempt to look presentable was useless. The woman in the doorway was immaculate; on her feet were a pair of glossy, black, stiletto heels, attached to the longest set of legs Eve had ever seen, a form-flattering grey pencil-skirt and a silky white blouse that perfectly showed off her hourglass figure.

_Jada_, Eve thought a little sullenly. Her tutor. But why would Valentine send _her_ here? Valentine knew that she wasn't very fond of Jada…

_Right,_ she realized with some dread. _I'm being punished. _

Jada crossed her slender arms across her chest with a scowl on her face, as if she were getting ready for a stern lecture, but couldn't find the words. It was absurd how beautiful Jada was, Eve thought – with her flawless bronze skin and shiny raven hair, her pretty full lips and her pretty brown eyes, her high cheekbones and her perfect nose. She was Italian, Eve had heard, which explained Jada's exotic beauty. But it still didn't make it _fair_.

She looked solemn, but Jada's words were almost soft when she spoke. "He really wasn't kidding," she murmured, her eyes narrowing skeptically.

"Who?" Eve asked.

"Valentine," her tutor replied shortly. "When he said that you were covered head-to-toe in mud. He wasn't kidding."

Eve simply nodded. In her experience, Valentine rarely 'kidded' about anything.

With a little sigh, Jada walked towards her – her heels clicking like a metronome against the marble – and took Eve's chin delicately between her thumb and forefinger. She raised her dirty face to meet hers, and Eve saw that Jada was studying her fastidiously, as if she were some sort of bizarre lab specimen. Jada couldn't have been older than twenty-five years old, but her gaze was piercing. It made Eve feel totally self-conscious.

"Let's see what can be done," Jada said finally, waving elegantly towards the door. "Fill the tub."

Immediately, a line of several plainly dressed maids filed into the room, each carrying a large pail of steaming water. Eve cringed, knowing what that meant.

Jada was about to give Eve her version of a 'bath.'

"Jada," Eve put in hastily, trying to stay calm as the maids past her and headed to the bathroom. "Actually, I was hoping that I could have a shower by myself…"

"Nonsense." Jada shot her a regal look. "You're filthy. And we're on a time schedule."

"But –" Eve barely had time to sputter a protest before Jada took her by the wrist and hauled her to the bathroom after the maids, shutting the door firmly behind her. As much as she despised Jada's baths, Eve had to admit that her bathroom was one of her favorite rooms, with its graceful white molding on the walls and the beautiful porcelain claw-foot tub and the seamless marble floor. Although Jada's grip on her wrist was keeping her from really appreciating the scenery.

In a matter of minutes, Eve was undressed and dunked into a frothy tub of bathwater, one that smelled pleasantly of roses. Maids circled around her like prison guards; there was one on each of her hands and feet, scrubbing her dirt-clogged nails with single-minded vigor. Another set of women were shampooing her hair from a separate basin of water, and as far as Eve could tell, it hadn't been an easy task; her hair was riddled with mud and the occasional stray leaf, and so far, they had been forced to replace the water three times.

"I despair over you," Jada scolded, pacing the length of the bathroom. Her heels were clicking madly. "Honestly, I'm trying to raise you to be a _lady_. What did you do to get this dirty? Swim in a mud puddle?"

Eve meant to respond, but all she could see in her mind's eye was Jonathan, grinning waist deep in the creek, and the words escaped her. "Ouch," she mumbled as one of the maids tugged harshly on her hair. The woman in question smiled ruefully at her for a moment, and then returned dutifully to her work, messaging the foamy shampoo into her scalp.

"And what is _this_?" Jada snapped accusingly, holding up a mud-slicked something hooked on her finger.

Eve recognized it immediately. "It is my shirt, Jada," she explained. "You know that…"

"But, I got you _new_ clothes," Jada ranted on. "Why are you wearing _these_ ones still?"

"Because I _like_ my old clothes," Eve defended. "None of my new clothes are comfortable; they are all too tight –" _And they're absolutely ridiculous_, Eve added internally.

Jada rolled her eyes. "There're _supposed_ to be tight. You aren't ten years old anymore, Eve. You have a _figure_, for heaven's sake. A _figure_. You could at least _pretend_ to dress like you've noticed, instead of wearing these ridiculous, baggy excuses for clothing."

Eve frowned. She had happened to _like_ that ridiculous, baggy excuse for clothing.

"Get rid of it," Jada sniffed, tossing the shirt to one of the maids at her side.

"Yes, Miss Jada," the maid replied, scurrying out of the room with the filthy cloth.

"Jada!" Eve cried in protest, but it was too late. The maid was too far out of earshot to be called back. "Why did you do that?" she demanded suddenly, turning on Jada.

"It's for your own good." Her tutor slid a pencil out from behind her ear and wrapped her rippling black hair up with it, using it like a pin to hold the knot. She peered into a mirror beside her, critiquing her work, toying with a few stray locks. "You won't win the love of a Morgenstern, looking like you just came walking out of a trashcan."

"Oh," Eve snapped. "And you would know this from _experience_?"

Jada paled at that.

Her eyes widened as she turned to glance at Eve, but as soon as their eyes met, Jada quickly looked away. Her complexion was a bit too dark to tell, but Eve was almost hundred percent sure that she was bushing.

Jada's response to her was cut off by the return of the maid from before.

She didn't have her shirt anymore, Eve noticed with a scowl, but she didn't worry too much about it. She would find out where she put it later; the maids knew better than to upset her by _really_ disposing of it.

That maid whispered something into the tutor's ear, then Jada glanced in Eve's direction, snapping her fingers impatiently. Eve noticed that she was avoiding looking directly into her eyes. "As soon as she is clean, get her dressed," Jada commanded. "She needs to be ready and downstairs in half an hour."

Eve watched curiously as Jada hastily slipped out of the room, wondering what she had possibly said to make her so unsettled. There were plenty of adjectives she could use to describe Jada, but 'unnerved' was not generally one of them; Jada was _always_ composed. Always perfectly put together.

Eve sunk deeper into the tub as soon as Jada was gone, letting the warm water thaw her bones and the bubbles tickle her chin.

Alright, she admitted. Maybe Jada's baths weren't _too_ bad, after all.

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><p><strong>Sorry, guys. Not much action here... But did you catch some of the foreshadowing?... <strong>

**What 'new method' is Valentine concocting to help 'cure' Jonathan?... And what is this whole thing about Jada? With a _Morgenstern_? **

**Hmmm... How suspicious. I suppose we will find out next time...**

**Love, Fishie.**


	6. Chapter 6: Visitors

**Hello again!**

**Here is a chapter that I have been itching to write for awhile! And if you think this one is good, wait for the next chapter. You readers are going to go crazy. ****(In a good way)**

**Sigh... I don't realize how much I miss Valentine in the books until I write him... Maybe I'll put him in the story some more... OH MY GASP! I JUST GOT AN IDEA! Funny how that works... **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments**

**PS: Do you remember Pangborn and Blackwell? They are all the way back in the first Mortal Instruments book...**

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><p>As soon as the second-hand on the clock had past six-thirty, Eve had walked down the marble staircase and was headed towards the dining-room.<p>

Jada had not returned to the bathroom during Eve's soak in the tub, and she had felt a sneaking suspicion that it had somehow been her fault. So, out of guilt, Eve had decided to wear some of the 'new clothes' that Jada had gotten her.

That, however, had been a BIG mistake.

Jada's definition of 'style,' apparently, was to dress exactly like a mini version of herself: Eve had scanned through her closet in horror to find that all her jeans, t-shirts, and sweaters had been replaced with skin tight pencil-skirts, rippling loose blouses, and structured jackets. With a groan, Eve had chosen an outfit that was less 'Jada' than the rest of them: one of the simpler light-grey pencil skirts with an uncomplicated silky Prussian-blue blouse. 'It looked fabulous,' the maids had said. It brought out the rich gold color of her hair and made her eyes seem 'bluer than ever.'

Eve wasn't so convinced; the maids probably would have said the same thing if she had been dressed in dish-rags.

And she didn't feel 'fabulous,' either. She felt ridiculous and extremely uncomfortable: and to top it all off, Jada had even taken her _shoes_.

This meant that Eve had been forced to walk to the dining-room in a pair of smoky-colored high heels. And even though they were a lot shorter than Jada's had been, (Maybe the woman was capable of some sympathy after all?) they were still tricky to navigate in. Her entire sense of balance had been thrown off, and it had taken a couple long minutes of toddling around in the shoes for her to actually look _graceful_ in them. Thankfully, the dining room had been far enough away from her rooms that she could practice her gait, but now that the dining-room door was in sight, just a few paces down the shadowy corridor, she was suddenly unsure. What would Jonathan think? What would _Valentine_ think?

The pale stone wall beside her was cool, and Eve leaned against it gratefully. She stayed there a moment, taking in a deep, slow breath, trying to calm herself – but it wasn't so easy. She still ached all over from the training earlier, and her feet felt uncomfortable in the heels. Not that the pain was unbearable – no, she had been taught to have a high pain threshold – but the soreness was a constant bother. It wasn't helping her mood.

She glanced calmly to her side, staring at the dining-room door just beside her. It was a massive thing; made of rich, dark wood, and carved in the ornate, classical style of the seventeen hundreds. Beautiful, she thought. Just like everything else here was beautiful. It was like she was living in some heavenly paradise; though surely that wasn't natural. What would it be like, she wondered dully, to live somewhere else – maybe even in the mundane world? Was everything beautiful there too?

With a shake of her head, Eve unhitched herself from the wall and closed the distance between her and the door, trying not to tremble as she pulled it open.

Inside the dining-room, it was brilliantly lit, unlike the dimness of the hallway outside. The immense crystal chandelier hanging far above the dining-table was glimmering like the sun, casting soft, elegant patterns of light across the room. The ceilings were high and arched like a cathedral, with one giant curved window to the opposite wall. Eve could see the pearly moon beyond it, the silvery clouds, a lovely diamond-studded night sky, and the rolling grassy hills of Idris below. She thought of how everything here seemed abnormally beautiful and looked away.

But the dining-table was about as grand as the rest of the room, she realized: made of the same dark wood as the door and inlaid with pale marble at the top. It had the same classical elegance as the door as well, Eve noticed, as if they had both been products of the Baroque era, but she was less interested in the workmanship of Valentine's furniture than the two people sitting at it.

Valentine was reclined at the head of the table, of course, looking all too comfortable and pleased as he saw Eve walk in the room. He must have been wearing the same dark suit as before, she thought, but he had obviously abandoned the jacket part of it since. The cuffs of his white shirt were rolled up to his forearms, with the first couple buttons near the collar undone, exposing a small triangle of his collarbone. He regarded her with a slow calculated interest, a smile playing at the corner of his pale lips.

"Jada got a hold of you, I see," he said, running his black eyes over her form. He looked slightly victorious. He had been trying to get her to dress like a 'lady' for years now. It must have been satisfying for him to see her, then: decked out in Jada's businesslike style of clothing.

Eve nodded numbly in response, glancing, almost mechanically, to the person sitting next to Valentine at the table.

Jonathan.

He was at his father's right side, and dressed in very much the same manner as him: with his black trousers and white long-sleeved shirt. He had probably just had a shower, too, she noted jealously. His silvery white hair was damp but clean, making his features seem softer than usual as the tumbled locks framed his face. But that wasn't what struck her the most about him.

It was that he was _staring_ at her – and not very subtly either.

Jonathan's gaze swept over her like black velvet, hungrily running over her body like a cascade of water. Maybe it was the clothes, Eve thought. Jonathan had certainly never seen her in anything this fitted before. Maybe he was surprised.

But he didn't look surprised. He didn't look like much of anything she had seen before.

His expression was strangely blank, neither pleased nor displeased, but his eyes had darkened impossibly, and were blazing like hot coals. He was staring at her the way he did when they trained together; as if she was presenting him with a challenge that he was indefinitely going to overcome.

But they _weren't_ training, she thought inquisitively. There was no obstacle for him to pass. Why would he look at her like that? What was he thinking behind those midnight eyes?…

"Eve," Valentine said, a slight measure of humor in his voice. "You may take a seat if you like."

Her gaze dropped to the floor as she glided over to her side of the table, to Valentine's left. A manservant appeared and slid out her chair for her, pushing it back in once she sat down, but she refused to look the man. She had glued her blue eyes to the edge of the table, trying to ignore Jonathan's heavy stare; but it was no use. She could feel his eyes burning through her clothes, like a hot poker left too long in a fire.

She wanted to tell him not to look at her like that, especially not when Valentine was there, but she knew it was pointless. She knew how his father punished his bad behavior, and if whip lashes from his own father couldn't curb Jonathan's conduct, then there was no chance in heaven or hell that her simple words could stop him from doing _anything_.

Eve sat in awkward silence as a number of servants bustled into the room, busying themselves with plates of food and filling up wine glasses. _Red wine_, Eve thought immediately as the liquid met her glass. _Best paired with red meats like beef. _She guessed that was what they were eating tonight… Her fingers drummed a nervous pattern against her knees and she shook her head slightly, her waist-length gold curls brushing against her back.

It was absurd that she was so flustered. This was Jonathan she was thinking about. _Jonathan_. He was friend, parabatai, almost her brother even, at times. She knew him better than herself. So why was she so unnerved by him now? Because he was _staring_ at her?

She almost laughed.

He was probably doing it just to annoy her. Maybe Valentine had punished him badly for earlier; maybe Jonathan blamed her for it.

Experimentally, Eve glanced up at Jonathan – and felt her throat tighten.

His gaze was still fixated on her, his dark eyes focused pointedly on hers. There were pretty eyelashes, she thought, framing those dark irises. She could almost imagine that she could see her reflection mirrored in them, as if they were up close, face to face…

_Stop_! she wanted to scream – both to herself and to him. _Stop_ _doing__ that! _It was impossible to look away from him though. He was summer lightening: dazzling and magnetic to the eyes, yet totally untouchable.

A sudden, sharp noise dragged her attention away from Jonathan. She unlocked her eyes from his, almost against her will, and flicked them instead to the door of the dining-room. At once, she saw the source of the sound. It had been another of the many man-servants, knocking politely at the open door.

Eve glanced quickly away from the servant and turned her gaze cautiously to Valentine: There were a good number of things that the eldest Morgenstern was very, _very_ particular about, and one of the more serious ones was being interrupted during a meal.

His pale, ascetic face was fixed stonily towards the door, a question sparking in his black eyes like a flame. Eve thought she saw the servant shrink away from him slightly. "Yes?" Valentine demanded, his tone sharp and dangerous.

"Visitors, L-Lord Valentine," the man told him shakily. "Here to see you."

"Visitors?" Valentine's disbelief was clear in his tone, but his features remained stiffly set. She noticed out of the corner of her eye, that even Jonathan was watching the man curiously. "Who?"

"From New York, sir: Pangborn – and Blackwell…"

The suspicion cleared from Valentine's features. Eve watched as Valentine glanced at her quickly, and she immediately stood, cringing as her chair screeched across the polished marble floor.

She was never allowed to see visitors: of _any_ kind. Very few Circle members knew the truth about Jonathan in the first place – There was another boy, Valentine had said, who they all thought was his son – but absolutely _no one_ knew _anything_ about her. She was a tightly kept secret, sent to her rooms whenever anyone came to the manor…

"Where are you going, Eve?" Valentine quietly asked. His voice was laced with humor.

She shot him a puzzled glance. What did he mean: 'where are you going?'

She was going to her room. That was where she _always_ went when company came… And she was grateful for it, too, this time. She wasn't sure how much longer she could stand Jonathan's pointed staring.

Valentine's lips curled up at the corner, in a gesture that made him look disturbingly like his son. "Stay where you are," he told her in a low voice, gesturing with a hand for her to be seated. She shot him another bewildered glance and his smile widened. "You ought to be socialized at some point or another, Eve. You are certainly prepared for it."

She sat down obediently, trying not to scream. Her chance at escaping Jonathan's gaze had crumbled into ashes.

"Send them in," Valentine commanded, turning his attention to the man-servant at the door.

But before the other man could respond, a silky laugh cut him off, along with the soft sound of approaching footsteps. "Valentine," a smooth voice greeted. "It _has_ been awhile."

Two new figures appeared in the doorway.

Both of them were male, Eve saw, but other than that, they were very unlike indeed. One of them was a hulking, towering brute of a man, all muscle, with short red hair and purplish skin. He was probably a warlock, she thought. The second man was of a totally different sort than the first. He was not quite as tall, but slender and elegant all the same, with a grey mustache and a pointed beard. He flashed a quick smile at Valentine, revealing pointed, blindingly white teeth.

"Welcome, Pangborn," Valentine replied pleasantly.

The man with the mustache nodded courteously, turning his obsequious gaze to Jonathan. "My greetings to you as well, young master," the man – Pangborn – continued. He aimed a respectful nod Jonathan's way. Jonathan, however, glared at him as if he was a cockroach that he had found floating in his chardonnay.

_Young master? _

Eve bit her lip painfully, grinning, trying desperately not to break out in laughter. What a ridiculous name. She vowed to remember it for later. Jonathan Morgenstern was never going to live that absurd title down; not for the rest of his life.

Suddenly, though, the humor ended.

In frighteningly perfect sync, Pangborn and Blackwell noticed her presence. They turned their gazes on her, studying her as if she were some sort of foreign object. Pangborn was playing cool, keeping his face neutral, but the other hulking man – Blackwell – wasn't even trying to hide his appreciation. He gawked at her as if she was some sort of divine goddess. But both sets of eyes gleamed with a dark sort of hunger; one that Eve couldn't place. It made her avert her eyes back to the table, sheepishly.

"And who is _this_, Lord Valentine?" Pangborn asked slowly, his eyes not moving off of her. "I don't believe I've seen her here before."

Eve wished that Jada was there. Yes, Jada. Men always ignored her when Jada was in the room. All of this male attention was going to drive her insane. She could feel Jonathan staring at her again as well; his gaze was as tangible as a touch.

"Pangborn, Blackwell, meet Eve," Valentine explained smoothly. "She is my guest: the daughter of a very close friend of mine."

Pangborn bowed theatrically. He was wearing a long, reddish colored robe that swirled around his feet as he moved. "Any friend of yours is a friend of ours, Lord Valentine. And if I might say so," He smiled greedily in her direction, his eyes flashing with heat. "The presence of such a beautiful woman here is most welcome, indeed."

Something shattered and Eve flinched, turning around to swiftly look at Jonathan. He had the remnants of his wine-glass gripped in his hand, not that there was much left to hold. Jagged pieces of glass sliced his palm, and red wine trickled from his clenched fist, mixed with blood. Jonathan barely seemed to notice. His eyes were fixed upon Pangborn with a still, murderous sort of hatred in them that was impossible to ignore.

"Jonathan," she chided gently, but he was beyond hearing her. She wished that she was next to him, so she could nurse his injured hand…

Valentine aimed a quick look at Jonathan: He looked almost worried.

"You don't need to continue standing there," Valentine told Pangborn and Blackwell, gesturing to the table. "By all means, have a seat."

The table itself was a massive thing, meant to sit over fifty people, but there were only two seats that were close to Valentine: the one next to her, and the one next to Jonathan.

All at once, Pangborn and Blackwell seemed to spring into action.

Both of them dived to take the seat next to her, failed, and collided together clumsily. They shot each other a venomous, caustic glare once they regained balance, both refusing to give up their spot. It was Blackwell who backed down from the challenge first, though: his expression faltered and he finally broke eye-contact with Pangborn. Dejectedly, he lumbered over to the high-backed chair beside Jonathan. He was frowning unhappily, but he didn't protest. Ae was he pparently, he wasn't interested in provoking the anger of the likes of Pangborn.

But Pangborn's fury was probably the least of his worries.

Jonathan shot Blackwell a white-hot glare that could have rivaled any of his father's, his face an icy mask of total rage. Eve thought that he looked very much like an unstable volcano: one that was ready to erupt.

With an elegant inclination of his head, Pangborn slid into the seat beside her, claiming his little victory with pride. He nonchalantly stretched out his arm once he was seated, resting it on the back of her chair just behind her shoulders. Eve started in horror as soon as he did it, but she was too paralyzed to move him away. He took her inability to move as an invitation and turned to look at her with a sharp, white smile. His eyes were glass grey, she noticed, but flashing greedily. Like he was some sort of hungry wild animal.

"So what brings you here, Pangborn?" she asked him politely. Eve turned her face away from Pangborn as she did it. She took a discreet sip of her wine and tried hopelessly to avoid Jonathan's dagger-like eyes.

A servant slipped a silver serving-tray in front of her and removed the polished lid tactfully, revealing a delicious-looking plate of steak, mashed potatoes and sautéed vegetables. Her stomach growled ravenously – she hadn't eaten anything since earlier that morning – but her appetite had escaped her. Feeling Pangborn's arm on her shoulders made her feel sick in a way that was almost painful.

"I'm just here to deliver a regular report," he told her. "Not much really, I'm afraid." Pangborn reached a finger down to stroke her shoulder, tracing invisible patterns on her arm. A sharp wretch of wrongness twisted in Eve's stomach, making her feel nauseous. Pangborn leaned in close to her, his lips brushing her ear. "I have to say," he chuckled darkly. "I'm in dire need of excitement, these days. Wouldn't you say, Eve?"

Eve swallowed her wine with a loud gulp.

_What did Pangborn mean: 'excitement?_'

Immediately, her eyes snapped to Valentine. She had no idea how she expected him to look – would he be pleased? Furious? – she didn't know. By the Angel, she didn't even know how _she_ was supposed to look. Should she be polite to Pangborn? Should she be indignant?

Valentine's face was cold and stiff, his eyes sparking with displeasure. The ten years she had lived with him had taught her to read his expressions like a map. His glare flicked to Pangborn's arm, still resting on her shoulders. _Move it_, his eyes commanded. Eve blinked once, not understanding, but she knew better than to disobey Valentine, even if she didn't comprehend why he was asking it.

In a moment, she had collected herself. Her mouth stiffened as she peeled Pangborn's right arm away from her and put it back down at his side. She thought it was an unspeakable relief, to not feel his arm on her shoulders anymore.

"If you are in need of excitement, Pangborn," a voice said dangerously. "You have come to the right place."

It was Jonathan, Eve saw, glaring at Pangborn with an acidic smile. He was leaning back in his chair casually, but there was something about the iciness of his posture: something that made Eve's blood run cold. He was toying with his dinner-knife in one hand, nonchalantly, as if it was a dagger. "I would be _more_ _than happy_ to take you hunting in the back woods," he said, grinning. His eyes were deadly. "As I'm sure you can guess, I am very good at shooting with the bow." Jonathan suddenly leaned forward, as if telling Pangborn a secret. His toxic smile had widened. "I _never_ miss a shot: Especially when it's a living target."

Blackwell edged away from Jonathan with a look of terror.

Valentine smirked.

After a second's hesitation, Eve glanced at Pangborn. His jaw was set anxiously, sweat glistened at his temples, and his left hand was nervously tapping the table.

Maybe he had understood the double-meaning in Jonathan's words, after all.

"Are there any other alternatives?" Pangborn replied in a falsely confident voice. He shot a glance at her. "Perhaps you might have a suggestion, Eve?"

There was a quick second, where she stared at him without comprehension, and then she felt Pangborn's hand stroke her thigh underneath the table, and she knew exactly what kind of excitement he had wanted.

As quick as lightening, Eve grabbed her entrée fork and sank it savagely, prongs-first, into the back of Pangborn's left hand: the hand that was resting on the table.

He howled in immediate agony, like a wounded animal, while everyone else looked on in silent horror. She started at Pangborn's scream. Valentine, Blackwell and Jonathan were staring at Pangborn's hand in absolute shock. But Jonathan was the first to recover and realize what had happened.

He broke into an audacious grin.

Eve glanced back at Pangborn – and gasped in terror to see him seething with rage, to see her fork lodged in his hand – even though _she_ had been the one who put it there. Beads on blood welled around the four little prongs.

_Oh no_, she thought, clapping her hands over her mouth. _What have I done?_

Blushing uncontrollably, Eve scrambled to her feet, away from Pangborn's accusatory glare. She backed toward the door quickly, wanting to just get away – away from Pangborn, from Blackwell, from Valentine, even from Jonathan. It wasn't any easy task; her footing was unstable in the heels.

Valentine's gaze locked with hers across the room, and he seemed to read in her eyes what had happened. To her surprise, he didn't appear angry at her at all for spearing Pangborn's hand. His pale lips curled into a Jonathan-like smirk. "Oh, dear," Valentine said smoothly, sipping his wine with his usual elegance. She could tell that he was trying not to laugh. "Perhaps this will teach you not to bother my dinner-guests, Pangborn."

Pangborn made a low hissing noise in response.

Eve stood hovering by the doorway to the dining-room, waiting in agonized habit, for Valentine to dismiss her before she left. She caught Jonathan looking at her again and paused. He was grinning like a bad angel, studying her from head to toe. Appreciation was clear in his face as he traced her form with his eyes.

Her cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red.

She felt like a mouse being cornered by a cat.

"You may go Eve," Valentine finally told her.

With a shudder, Eve finally turned and bolted out of the room, running as fast as Jada's ridiculous shoes would let her.

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><p><strong>So? Did you like it? Did you?<strong>

**I usually write my stories as I go, but this was a scene I had wanted to write from the beginning... Funny, next chapter is one of my favorites too... Hmm... It's like I enjoy this story or something...**

**REVIEW! OR NO MORE STORY! **

**(That was a joke.)**

**(But review.)**

**(Seriously.)**

**Love, Fishie.**


	7. Chapter 7:You're The One He's Coming For

***Trumpets sound* *Angel Choirs Sing***

**Here is a chapter I am sure to get some reviews on... (heheh)... Not that I don't normally get reviews but...**

**Akhem... Anyways... Here you go...**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Mortal Instruments.**

* * *

><p><em>Stupid.<em> Eve thought hopelessly. _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. STUPID._

She sat in the corner of the training room, with her face buried in her hands and her golden hair falling around her shoulders like a curtain.

The moment Eve had escaped the dining-room, she had sprinted to her bedroom, kicked her Jada-clothes off, and had hoped to change into something more comfortable. Unfortunately, Jada had been busy during Eve's time at dinner: She had replaced all of Eve's training clothes from her closet, as well as her normal clothes, and Eve had been forced to settle with wearing a pair of dark grey sweat-pants and a skintight black tank-top: a tank-top with skinny straps and a low neckline – a really, _**REALLY**_ low neckline.

Eve had searched her wardrobe in vain for a sweater or a t-shirt – or _anything_ that she could use to cover herself up, but of course, Jada had taken those too. So in an act of silent rebellion, Eve had sneaked into Jonathan's bedroom and taken one of _his_ long-sleeved t-shirts, instead.

It was huge on her; so huge that she felt like a little child playing dress-up, but Eve didn't care. It was loose-fitting, and soft, and it smelt like Jonathan, which comforted her a bit…

But it couldn't make her forget what had happened at dinner.

Images of Pangborn flashed through Eve's mind, swarming like a hive of angry bees as she sat alone in the training-room. She kept seeing the expression of rage on his pale face, hearing his agonized howl, feeling his fingers on her leg… Eve shivered in disgust and fury, tucking her hair behind her ears.

Pangborn had had no right – no right at all, to believe that she was interested in him.

Eve scoffed indignantly: As if she would even have _bothered_ to pay attention to one of Valentine's _lackeys_ when she had been sitting across from Jonathan Morgenstern: Jonathan, who was young and beautiful and a talented Shadowhunter. Jonathan who she _loved_.

_But who doesn't love you_, a voice in her mind sang.

Eve groaned then, her fury fading.

It had seemed like an eternity since dinner, but she still couldn't stop thinking about it. She had made such a fool out of herself – And in front of Jonathan and Valentine too, to top it all off. Eve could only imagine what they both thought of her now. Jonathan probably thought she belonged in an insane asylum, and she was sure that Valentine most likely thought the same…And Jada, oh Lord: What would Jada think?

Her tutor was probably going to explode when she found out, Eve thought in dread. She could already hear Jada's lecturing – hours upon _hours_ of lecturing – about improper table-manners and not being a 'lady'…

And Valentine would probably let her do it too, Eve realized, cringing.

Eve weakly dropped her hands away from her face and looked up.

She was sitting on a plain black stool, staring at her reflection in a mirror. The rest of the training-room was reflected in the glass as well; she could see every inch of the empty space. That vast floor-to-ceiling mirror covered one wall, and the other three walls were plain and white. In fact, the only thing that _wasn't_ white, it seemed, was a large square of black training mats in the centre of the room. Once upon a time, there had been quite an array of equipment in this room – weights and targets and weapons of every size and shape – but she and Jonathan had outgrown much of the equipment since their childhood. They had learned the skill, they had mastered it, and they had moved on. Now, the only piece of furniture that was left in the room was a dark wooden armoire in the far corner – one which held the few swords that were used when she and Jonathan didn't bother to go _outside_ and train.

Eve suddenly focused in front of her, studying herself in the mirror.

She looked like a mess – 'mess' being a total understatement. Her blonde curls were in an untidy disarray, her blue eyes were wide and childlike, and her lips looked chapped and bitten. She must have been gnawing on them without noticing, Eve thought distantly. It was a nervous habit of hers.

Either way, she didn't think she would ever look stylish and perfectly put-together the way Jada did. Maybe sophistication was something that you were simply born with, she wondered. Like having blonde hair and blue eyes. Maybe it was something you just did or didn't have.

If that was the case, then Eve guessed that she probably _didn't_ have it: She _never_ looked classy or refined.

"Think fast," a voice suddenly said.

Automatically, Eve spun around, her hands rapidly shooting out to catch a pale blur as it was hurled at her head. Her fingers closed over something soft and light, which was the opposite of what she had expected. She looked into her hands and saw what had been thrown at her – it was a buttered dinner-bun – warm, as if it had just been baked in the oven.

"I thought you might have been hungry."

The voice had come again, but this time she fully recognized it.

She looked up, without surprise, to see Jonathan lounging in the doorway. He had his bare arms crossed lazily over his chest, looking as flawless as always. A thoughtful frown curved his lips, and he was wearing his black formal Shadowhunter gear, which was unusual. Jonathan rarely ever brought the leathery gear out… It had been Valentine's once, Eve knew, and Valentine had passed it on to Jonathan as soon as he was old enough to wear it. Not that you could really tell that it had been a hand-me-down. It looked like the Angel himself had tailored the tough gear to perfectly fit Jonathan's body.

Eve glanced down at the warm bread in her hands, feeling oddly touched.

"How did you manage to get this?" she asked curiously. Valentine never let them eat outside of breakfast, lunch and dinner. If you missed the meal, it was your own fault. So where had Jonathan gotten a hold of food?

"Martha was in the kitchen," Jonathan told her, naming their middle-aged chef. He shrugged elegantly. "She really isn't allowed to give us any food, but…" He grinned. "She has a thing for me, I think."

_That makes two of us_, Eve thought dully.

She glanced away from Jonathan and bit hungrily into the bun. Whatever Jonathan had said about Martha's feelings towards him, the woman worked wonders with food. The bun tasted better than fabulous. After swallowing, Eve looked up at Jonathan again. He was studying her now, with a dark, somber kind of gaze. He didn't smile either, as she looked his direction. It was the same pointed look he had given her in the dining-hall. It made her slightly nervous.

"You changed," he said abruptly. "Out of your outfit."

Eve unlocked her eyes from his, blushing. "Jada got me those new clothes," she replied. "But I … I can't stand them."

Jonathan nodded. There was another long pause. "Is that why you're wearing my shirt?" he asked bluntly.

"Oh." Eve looked down at herself, finally remembering it was true. She had no idea why, but her mouth had gone insanely dry. "Y-Yes," she stammered. "Jada took my other clothes and…" Eve broke off, fumbling for words. "Does – Does it bother you?"

"No," he shrugged. "Just curious."

Eve dropped her gaze to her toes awkwardly.

Jonathan suddenly strode past her into the room, not making eye-contact. "Pangborn and Blackwell are gone," he told her briskly. "Father sent them away."

"Did they bring any news for Valentine?" Eve asked quietly, after a pause.

Jonathan walked to the armoire and rummaged through it impatiently. He must have been looking for a sword, Eve thought. "They blathered about the same old things," he responded distractedly. "Pangborn thinks he may have a lead about the location of the Mortal Cup."

Eve's eyes widened with wonder. She spun to face Jonathan with a beaming smile. "That's amazing news!" she exclaimed. "Valentine must be pleased…"

There was a soft sound, the scraping of metal against metal, as Jonathan drew a long, gleaming sword out of the armoire. It had a heavy, elegant hilt and he eyed it critically, not glancing her way. "Every time he comes here, Pangborn claims to know where the Cup is." Jonathan slid the sword into a black sheath at his hip, and started to hunt through the armoire again. "Father and I aren't really inclined to believe him anymore. We'll believe that he's located the Cup when we see it."

"Oh." Eve chewed meditatively on her bun. "Anything else?"

"Not really. Here." Jonathan tossed a sword her way and it skidded across the floor to her feet, shining dully. "You're going to need this."

Eve shoved the last of her bun in her mouth hastily, leaned down, and picked up the sword. Jonathan had chosen a good blade for her – it wasn't too light or too heavy – and the hilt seemed to mold faultlessly with the shape of her hand. She stood and walked over to the center of the room with the weapon gripped at her side, waiting at the edge of the black mats. Jonathan slid into place opposite her.

"Ready?"

Eve nodded without a word, and Jonathan instantly whipped his sword towards her.

His movements were blindingly fast; Eve barely had any time to parry the blow before it came, but somehow, her own sword had shot up to block the strike. She hardly felt in control of her body when they fought like this. Everything happened so quickly. It was reflexes and instinct alone that kept her sword clashing with his – kept her from harm.

In a moment, though, her instincts failed her.

Jonathan got under her guard and nicked her sword out of her hand. It sent the blade sliding across the room, and Eve took a single step backward – but it wasn't enough. Jonathan dropped his own sword to the ground and sprung at her like a wild animal. She felt a powerful impact throwing her backward. There was a moment when everything blurred. Air was choked out of her chest as she hit the ground, but Eve was almost grateful; it was a good change to be thrown on soft mats instead of hard forest floors.

She meant to struggle against Jonathan once they hit ground, but the blow had awakened her bruising soreness from the training session before dinner. There was a moment of pause where Eve's body was too exhausted to move, too exhausted to fight, too exhausted even, to do anything at all. The only sound in the room was her ragged breathing.

Then Jonathan chuckled.

It was a dark noise, a noise of gloating victory, but it wasn't the _sound_ of it that bothered her. It was the fact that she could _feel_ it, trembling where his chest pressed down on her, brushing her forehead with his exhalation of breath…

"You're going easy on me, Angel-girl…" Jonathan accused with a grin. "You're going to have to do better than this, or I might just kill you next time…"

Eve didn't doubt him.

Within the last ten years they had lived together, Jonathan had broken her wrists and ankles multiple times, fractured her skull, and snapped each of her ribs at least twice. And then of course there were the countless sprains, the pulls, the minor fractures… If it wasn't for _iratze_ runes, she probably _would_ have been dead by now.

But the years had made her strong: strong enough that she could now fight Jonathan Morgenstern on equal footing. She had broken as many bones of his as he had broken of hers.

She was about to say so when she caught the look in his face.

Jonathan's dark eyes were on fire, again, blazing as if set on flame by hell itself. He was lying neatly on top of her, propped up on his elbows, pinning her to the floor. All of a sudden, her nerves seemed to spark where his chest pressed hard against hers – which was totally bizarre, she thought. How many times had Jonathan pinned her to the ground – caged her against a wall during a fight? Why did it bother her _now_?

But Eve looked into those eyes dark and knew _exactly_ why it was bothering her. No matter how they had fought, Jonathan had always looked at her as an obstacle he had to overcome; she was just another training method to him, like a new archery-target to practice on … But he wasn't looking at her that way now. He was looking and seeing _her_. Not some empty hurdle. He was _seeing_ _her_…

Eve shivered, although it wasn't cold at all.

Why did he have to look at her like that?

Jonathan cocked his head to the side a bit, then. The light hit him perfectly from behind, making the edges of his silvery-white hair glow like a brilliant halo. She flinched a bit when Jonathan's grip on her wrists loosened gently. She hadn't even realized he was holding them.

But she was aware of him now – of every single place that his body touched hers – so much more aware of him than she had ever been before.

His eyes blazed darkly as he leaned his face down, closer to hers, and Eve felt like her heart may have skipped a beat in her chest. _He's going to kiss me_, she thought.

"I liked what you did," Jonathan said to her softly. His lips were barely an inch away from hers, she realized, blushing. And his voice was so low, so intimate… Eve trembled. "When you did what you did to Pangborn – I liked that."

Jonathan dipped his mouth down to kiss her and Eve suddenly focused, breaking out of her reverie with a snap of anger.

Before Jonathan could blink, Eve had flipped them both over, so that _she_ was pinning _Jonathan_ to the mat, instead of the other way around. She glared down at him in disgust and growled, deep in the back of her throat.

_That_ caught Jonathan's attention.

He looked up at her, then, as if for the first time. Surprise momentarily chased the dream-like flame from his eyes.

_I don't understand you, _she wanted to scream at him._ Jada has put me through hell these last few years. __Hell__! Just so that I can be a 'lady' – so – so that you would __like__ me – and you never cared! __Never__! We – we've known each other for __ten__years__ and you __never__cared__!… And then I stab somebody at dinner tonight and __now__ you're interested in me? __Now__? What is __wrong__ with you?_

Eve moved to get off of his lap, snatching her hands away from Jonathan in rage, but he didn't let her.

In a flash, Jonathan sat up and grabbed her arms, yanking her body toward his chest with savage-like precision. Eve gasped – more in surprise than pain – as her body was totally pressed against his.

He was taller than her then, Eve thought automatically, even though she was still sitting on his lap. She knew this because the first thing she saw when she collected herself was Jonathan's lips, drifting right in front of her blue eyes like a sculptor's masterpiece. His warm breath fanned over her forehead, smelling sweetly like wine…

Eve trembled without wanting to. She could feel his heart hammering through the thick gear, like a tiny bird, and it was doing things to her that she had never felt before, chasing away her anger; she guessed that Jonathan could feel her shuddering just as well as she could feel his heartbeat. The thought filled her with a nameless horror.

She found that she couldn't even breathe. Time seemed to stretch out for an eternity.

Eve stayed frozen to him, trying to match the rhythm of her breathing with the rise and fall of Jonathan's chest. Her body molded perfectly to his, she thought distractedly. She was trying so hard to hold on to her last threads of anger at Jonathan, but it was impossible. It was as if their bodies were perfectly matched puzzle pieces; pieces that only fully belonged when they were paired with each other…

Jonathan's grip loosened on her arms, then.

As if he had read the emotion in her mind, his hands became unspeakably gentle against her arms, making her feel weak in a way that was foreign to her. She took a deep breath to calm herself, but all she could smell was Jonathan: the leathery scent of his gear – the spicy fragrance of his skin and hair…

_Here's your chance_, her mind was warning her. _Get away from Jonathan. Leave._

But her body refused to listen to her mind.

She remained there, sitting on his lap, her body completely plastered to his. Eve knew that she was free to go or draw away – that it was a terrible idea _not_ to – but she didn't move – she _couldn't_ move. A dark, consuming sort of hunger overcame her as she felt Jonathan's fingertips slowly traveling up her arms, and it chained her to him like an iron band.

Eve closed her eyes languorously, gasping a little as his fingers met the bare skin of her collarbone. She realized with a distant sort of horror that her stiff body was melting under the heat of his touch like butter. She was gradually loosing resistance; his hands were intoxicating her like a poison. It felt as if her spirit and her physical self had somehow been torn apart from each other. Like her brain had become something other – a spectator that had no control over what her body did.

By the time Jonathan's fingers had slid across the skin of her shoulders and moved to cup her face, Eve had almost lost any will to resist him. Her body was putty in his hands.

Her mind shrieked in one last protest, but Eve couldn't stop herself; she raised her hands and touched him for what felt like the first time in her life.

An almost electric sensation rippled through her veins as their skin met. Her hands slid down Jonathan's strong forearms, trailing to his wrists, tangling her fingers in his fingers. He was warm, Eve realized. His body radiated heat in a way that was magnetic. She had never noticed him like this before, she thought – in a way that wasn't like a brother or a friend or a training partner.

Eve's blue eyes fluttered open.

Her gaze locked with Jonathan's for one single moment, a split second – but a split second was all that they needed.

She looked into his dark eyes – and saw herself reflected in those eyes – and she felt something powerful change between them: The Jonathan who had been her brother, the Jonathan who had squabbled with her throughout her childhood, the Jonathan that had played with her by the creek in the woods in the summertime – that Jonathan was gone, now. And the innocent little girl who had been his friend, his side-kick, his worst enemy, even, at times – she was gone too. Eve could only see Jonathan and herself as they were at that moment: as something different than that. Something stronger than that.

Jonathan tilted his face closer to hers, his bare fingers blazing against the tender skin of her neck. He was deliberately drawing out the time, she thought, although she had no idea why. There was nothing he could have done then to make her possibly want him _more_.

Eve let him coax her head to fall back. Her eyelids to droop closed… She felt his lips brush warmly against her forehead, sweeping down her temples, over her cheekbones – she trembled with anticipation as his nose touched hers.

After that there was a long pause, where Jonathan was still, and Eve was almost tempted to open her eyes again…

And then he kissed her lips.

A shudder shot down her spine like lightening.

Eve's lips parted expectantly, her hands dropping from his wrists to his chest. His hands slid around her waist, crushing her body hotly to his. If it had been any other circumstance, Eve would have cried out in pain with how tightly he was holding her, but she didn't feel pain, then. She only felt the bizarre desire for him to hold on tighter.

Her fingers ran up his chest and her slender arms circled around his neck, pulling him closer. Her lips explored his mouth as his hands trailed down the line of her back and for an instant she almost drew back in hesitation. Jonathanwas the one who usually liked to take the position of power. She wondered if she might have troubled him, somehow, with her bold behavior.

But he didn't seem bothered to see that she had taken control. If anything, it had seemed to please him. His lips curled into a smile as her mouth pressed down on his. Reality – even reality itself – seemed to stop for a moment. She could only feel Jonathan's body, taste Jonathan's lips, hear Jonathan's heartbeat, breathe Jonathan's breath. Everything else had fallen away from her.

It seemed like hours later when he finally drew those lips away from her, although it could not have been more than a minute.

Jonathan chuckled cruelly, then, his breathing ragged, and Eve's blue eyes unexpectedly flashed wide. Her body froze stiff with the dawning realization.

_Oh God_, she thought in abrupt horror. _Oh God, what have I done?_

She thrust herself away from Jonathan's lap and scrambled to her feet, dread washing over her like a tsunami. She shuddered and backed away from Jonathan as fast as she could. Her hands were shaking like autumn leaves at her sides, her blonde curls disheveled and falling around her like tangled seaweed. Numbness lingered on the edges of her lips, as if she had just tasted poison.

Maybe she had.

Jonathan was seated on the floor, his chest hitching as quickly as if he had run a marathon. What frightened her most was the look in his eyes: He was grinning. His black eyes danced brightly with satisfaction – like he had just stumbled upon a mine packed full of gold.

"Well," he said, breathlessly. "_That_ was unexpected."

Eve tried to speak. She _tried_. But all that seemed to come out of her mouth was a sort of choking noise. She slowly studied his face, but after a moment she had to look away. His cheeks were flushed, his hair a tangled mess, and yet he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen: so beautiful that it was impossible for her to keep looking at him and keep her composure at the same time. Eve clenched her eyelids shut, to block the image of him from her mind. But it only sort of worked.

Her eyes opened against her will.

"Jonathan," whispered Eve dazedly, running her gaze along the sculpted curves of his lips. As much as she was convicted to not say anything, her lifelong habit of worrying about him won out. His lower lip was oozing a trace of red from a shallow cut. Blood. "Jonathan, you're bleeding," she mumbled.

He caught her inquisitive gaze and grinned wider, wiping at the side of his mouth with the edge of his dark sleeve. To her horror, Jonathan stood up, unfurling like a cat. His eyes were wild. "That's because you bit me, Eve," he told her. "When you kissed me."

Eve blinked at him, taken aback. "I _did_?" she stuttered in terror. "I mean – I – I – don't remember doing that."

His eyes gleamed darkly, like a pair of black diamonds as he strolled leisurely towards her. Hot passion was there, burning like a fire. "I do," he said in a soft low voice. "That's all that matters."

He was three steps away, two, one… Soon he was standing directly in front of her, staring her down like a predator stares down prey. She couldn't move; her feet were cemented to the ground, so she stared at her toes diligently – desperate to not look into Jonathan's face. Eve peeked up at him in the end and almost fainted with how overwhelmed she was.

"You've been holding out on me, Angel-girl," he said wickedly, sliding his hands effortlessly around her hips. She didn't stop him; it was like he had done it a million times. He was gazing down at her with hooded wonder, as if she really _was_ an angel. His black irises had darkened impossibly – becoming the shade of a midnight sky – a darkness so infinite that you could almost tumble up and into it. Eve could have sworn that she saw stars flicking in the depths of those eyes…

He pulled her close to him and her body bonelessly surrendered, molding to his. Eve had never felt so weak in her entire life.

She stared up at Jonathan dumbly, choking on her words. It felt like wads of cotton had been shoved down her throat to restrict her speech. Though it probably didn't help, considering the way that Jonathan was looking at her.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Jonathan," Eve muttered at last.

Jonathan hadn't seemed to hear her. "I guess it only makes sense," he mused. "After all… Having angel blood doesn't necessarily make you an angel, does it? Not that I'm an expert, but …" He smiled at her knowingly, dangerously. "You have a spark in you, Eve." Jonathan dipped his face down to kiss her again. "It's almost similar to me. I like that…"

His lips tenderly brushed against the edge of her mouth, feeling softer than velvet, and Eve almost let him carry her away again. Then suddenly, she balled her hands into fists at his chest and shoved him away, splitting herself free of Jonathan's embrace.

Echoes of her footsteps sounded throughout the room as she backed away from him again, and Eve rubbed her aching temples, as if it would clear her mind somehow while she walked. There was a long period of silence, then, until Jonathan finally spoke.

"Eve." The sound of his voice was pain. She saw him step towards her and almost bolted for the door. "What –"

She stopped her pacing. "No," Eve cut in unsteadily. "No, just – just _quit_ for a second, will you? Let me think."

Jonathan quit, which was surprising. He usually _never_ listened to her; her strain must have shown in her expression. She ran her trembling fingers through her hair. Her fingers felt icy.

"You shouldn't have kissed me like that." Eve blurted unexpectedly. "You – you just shouldn't have done it."

It hadn't been what she intended to say, but it was there now, hovering in the space between them like heavy fog.

Jonathan shot her a flirty, amused look. "Oh? And why not?"

Eve chewed on her lip thoughtfully, crossing her arms across her chest. She noticed that Jonathan wasn't as far away from her as she would have liked. "Because I … I …I don't know, Jonathan… This changes things…"

"Like what?" Jonathan began again. His voice was smoother than silk and he took another stride towards her, closing the space between them. "Eve, I _want_ you, and I _know_ that you want me –"

"I _don't_ know if I want you. Not like this…"

Jonathan pulled her close again. "You're a liar," he growled with a smile. "Was that what you were saying when you kissed me? That you didn't want me like that?"

Eve's throat tightened. She was pressed against his body again, but this time, she found the courage to look up into his face. Slowly, she raised her hands and slid her fingers up the sides of Jonathan's neck. He didn't try to stop her as she quietly covered his lips with her fingers.

Eve felt her eyes pleading, burning with the threat of tears. "Stop," she begged him tiredly. "Please, Jonathan. Just … stop talking."

His eyes darkened once more as he gazed down at her, and Eve feared that he might pull her harshly up to him in another kiss, but reality dragged her away first.

There was a tentative knock at the training-room door and her eye-contact with Jonathan shattered into pieces. He let her go, then, and dropping her hands firmly to her sides, Eve turned to the door. Her fingertips were blazing. "Come in," Eve called stiffly, thankful for the interruption.

A maid creaked open the door and peeked into the room timidly. "Ms Eve, Mr. Morgenstern wants to speak with you in his office."

Eve shot a glance at Jonathan. "Valentine? Alone?" she asked in reply.

"He only summoned for you," the maid answered. "I would assume so.'

Eve nodded quickly and snuck another furtive look at Jonathan. His mouth was set in a tight frown, which, she had to admit, made him look very much like his father: At any rate, he didn't seem pleased at the interruption. Eve hesitated for a fraction of a second; not wanting to displease Jonathan, not wanting to stay, but her body reacted without her mind's permission – like it had so many times in that last ten minutes.

Before she knew it, she had hurried to the door – past the surprised-looking maid – and had vanished into the dark corridor.

Eve wished that night would just be over as she marched hastily in the direction of Valentine's office.

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><p><strong>And there you have it folks... The first kiss...<strong>

**LOL... to be honest, I had planned a whole other part to this chapter, which was totally halarious, but I didn't want to ruin the moment between Jonathan and Eve... (What can I say? I like some drama...) Maybe I will post it as an alternate ending, or maybe I'll find some reason to put it in another time... Although I doubt that Jada will ever find another opportunity to call Valentine a 'little virgin'... just saying... ;)**

**Hope you enjoyed it! Next chapter, things are gonna pick up fast!**

**Love, Fishy.**


	8. Chapter 8: Destiny?

**Whew... Hi guys, sorry I haven't updated in awhile... **

**I was actually only going to post what is Morgenstern Girl chapter 9, and add this chapter here later as a alternate/ funny oneshot thing, but I read OMGADot's review and I knew I could not help but add this as a bonafide part of the story... That's why it took me so long... **

**I altered it from it's original idea a bit, just so it would fit with the flow of the rest of the story, but all the funniness is pretty much still here! So... I guess this chapter is sorta dedicated to OMGADot... because otherwise, I probably never would have written it... :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Mortal Instruments...**

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><p>Jada had spent ten long minutes storming through the manor's corridors looking for Eve – without any success. She had thought that, perhaps, the time alone might have cooled her own raging temper, but in the end, the occasion had done nothing but give Jada more and more time to figure out what she was going to rant about when she got a hold of Eve, and Jada had an ear-full planned. To think that Eve had <em>stabbed someone<em> at the dinner-table…

Jada smiled slightly.

Well, she wasn't _totally_ angry with her; Eve may have been wrong to wound Pangborn at dinner, but Jada could hardly blame Eve for doing it. Jada was about as fond of Pangborn herself as she was fond of cheap wine and PMS: Pangborn was a leech of a man, which discredited leeches.

She shrugged at no one in particular.

At least he left Jada herself alone for the most part, now. He had tried to get a bit too friendly with her once, and Valentine had almost skinned Pangborn alive… From what Valentine had told her, Jonathan had been about just as furious tonight with Pangborn as Valentine had been with Pangborn then. Maybe jealousy ran in the family.

She turned around a corner and marched through a short hallway, her high-heels clicking across the marble floor with an air of finality. There were only a few places where Eve hid out if she was upset, Jada knew: the first was her bedroom, which had been empty, the second was the horse-stables outside, where she also hadn't been, and the third and last place was the indoor training room, where Jada was heading to now.

She turned off of the short hallway and into another, longer elaborate corridor – the one where the training-room was – and then Jada paused. Far down the marble corridor, she saw the shapes of a few maids huddled by a doorway and Jada's brown eyes narrowed skeptically as she strode down the wide walkway. What in the world were they doing?

It wasn't until Jada finally reached the girls that they seemed to notice her presence; all at once, they glanced up, saw her hourglass shadow looming over them, and froze in chilled horror.

Jada glared down at them, her hands on her hips. "What are you –"

They cut her off, not with words, but with actions. Simultaneously, the three maids ushered her to be quiet, waving their arms emphatically and putting their fingers silently to their lips. Their eyes were almost reproachful. _Be quiet_, they seemed to say. _Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet!_

Jada was taken aback. The staff usually knew better than to question her, and it made her obey them warily for some reason. She knelt down on the marble floor beside them silently, next to a pretty brunette maid who looked barely older than Eve.

"What in the world is going on?" Jada whispered under her breath. The maids all pointed quietly to a crack in the training-room door.

Jada blinked at them and then peered through the crack in the door, feeling like an immature teenage girl – and almost fell over when she saw what was inside.

It was Eve.

But she wasn't alone. Not by a long shot.

Jonathan was with her, wearing his father's leathery Shadowhunter gear, pinning her to the floor. But that wasn't an abnormal thing, Jada told herself; she had seen Jonathan and Eve fight before. They sometimes pinned each other to the ground. What was different this time was the way that Jonathan was looking at Eve. His eyes had darkened impossibly, the way Jada knew his father's did when –

"He's totally going to kiss her," the blonde maid whispered eagerly. "Look at him; he's basically drooling over her."

Jada hadn't even noticed that the girls had gathered around her to look through the crack in the door; she rolled her eyes at them, but she wasn't really bothered by it. The arrangement reminded her a bit of when she had been housed at Alicante's orphanage, eight long years ago.

"He isn't going to kiss her," the brunette hissed. "He's nothing but a flirt; he'll just lead Eve on and never follow through."

"Jealous, Mary?" the third sandy-haired maid chuckled in a low voice. She grinned and nudged the brunette lovingly in the ribs with her elbow.

Jada almost smiled, but she was too on edge.

If Jonathan really _did_ kiss Eve, it would be a miracle for her: Jada had spent basically a decade trying to get him to fall in love with her. Valentine would probably buy her a gold plated, fifty-foot yacht out of gratitude and send her cruising in the Bahamas, if this worked.

"Shut up!" the blonde girl whispered in a hushed tone. "I missed what he just said!"

In the end, it didn't matter what Jonathan had said. He leaned his face down to Eve's, his lips almost touching hers… And Jada realized distractedly that she was holding her own breath. She was also surprised by the twist of nervousness in her chest:

Part of it, she knew, was for her herself. She had been _hired_ to make sure that this day arrived – to fulfill Valentine's marital plans for Eve and Jonathan was part of her job. The largest part of it though, was concern for Eve. Jada had never married nor had any children of her own: Desperation had required her to make some sacrifices, and marriage was the first to go. But to see Eve now, who was the closest thing she had ever had to a daughter, having her first kiss… It was absolutely nerve-wracking.

_Come on, Eve_, Jada wanted to say. _Don't mess this up…_

Eve suddenly flipped Jonathan over, so that she was pinning him to the ground instead. And it didn't look like she was playing hard to get; Eve looked furious, her gold hair fell tangled over her shoulders, her pale cheeks flushed scarlet with rage. The maids let out a soft groan of disappointment.

Jada fought the urge to scream.

Her yacht in the Bahamas had suddenly sunk like the Titanic.

"Ha!" the brunette scoffed under her breath. "Told you so."

The blonde gave her a look of death. "Not really… Jonathan didn't turn her down… Technically, _she_ turned _him_ down…"

"Can you _stop_ with the commentary?" Jada hissed. She shot the girl beside her a glare like venom and they all shut up.

The four of them wordlessly huddled around the sliver of open door again and peeked inside. The scene seemed to have changed entirely in the moment they had lost focus. Eve was still on top of Jonathan, but now he had sat up, pulling her to him, and Eve was sitting still on his lap, facing him… The two were chest to chest, face to face… And the anger had faded from Eve's lovely blue eyes by then, replaced by a fire that burned hotter and fiercer that fury…

Jada swore that she could have heard the maids' heartbeats fluttering.

"Oh this is so romantic!"

"Move your elbow! I can't see!"

"Mary, if you keep scowling like that, your face is going to stay stuck that way forever…"

Jada rolled her eyes emphatically. It didn't surprise her now why Valentine never slept with any of the maids. They all talked way too much.

She focused again and saw Jonathan run his fingertips slowly up Eve's arms. The maids went dead silent as, slowly, Eve slid her hands tenderly down Jonathan's forearms, knotting her fingers with his. Eve's eyes fluttered closed, her head fell back…

Jada's hands clenched into anxious fists.

"_Come on, Eve…_" Jada whispered."_Come on, come on, come on…_"

She felt like she was watching a sports game.

There was a moment of pause, and Jada thought she might burst at the seams… Then Jonathan leaned in and kissed Eve's face, trailing down from her forehead, getting closer and closer to her lips.

_C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon…_

Then his mouth met Eve's.

Eve gasped a little, in that moment, and then her body softened totally against Jonathan's. She slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

The maids squealed in a whisper.

Jada had the sudden impulse to cheer and applaud for Eve – this was a defining moment, it had been years in the making – but she remained silent as she glided to her feet. A wretch of guilt chased away her good mood, though she couldn't place where it was coming from.

She turned to march down the corridor, oddly dissatisfied.

"Where are you going?" the maids hissed.

Jada smoothed down her smoky grey pencil-skirt distractedly as she turned back toward the maids. "I'm going to go talk to Valentine," Jada replied, turning traitor. She was avoiding eye contact. "He'll probably want to know about this."

The brunette – Mary – shot her a cynical look. "That's probably a bad idea…"

Jada disinterestedly arched an eyebrow at the maid. The guilt hadn't left yet. "Oh?" she wondered. "And why is it a bad idea?"

The blonde piped up. "Well, Valentine's pretty conservative, isn't he? What if he doesn't want Eve and Jonathan to be… you know… dating before they get married? Especially if they're living in the same house… Because, well… we all know that things _happen_ when boys and girls live in the same house together…"

Jada rolled her eyes again tiredly. "Don't be ridiculous. What kind of person would expect a couple to get married and have children right after, and not expect them to be 'romantically involved' at all before then?"

Two of the maids just gave her a look. The third that was still crouched at the cracked-open door even turned and gave Jada an 'are-you-stupid?' look.

Jada felt her cheeks flush slightly as the realization set in. "Ok, Ok…" she admitted. "Maybe Valentine _would_ be a little wary about it, but…"

The two girls pointedly kept staring at her, eyebrows arched.

"Fine!" Jada confessed with a glare. "I _know_ he wouldn't be happy, alright?"

"Wouldn't be _happy_?" Mary cut in. "He'd probably lock Eve in chastity belt and send her to a nunnery until the day her wedding came around."

Jada frowned.

That totally sounded like something that Valentine would do.

"Well maybe Valentine should grow up and stop being such a little _virgin_," Jada muttered with a frown. "Not all of his ideas are good ones."

Mary snickered. "Valentine the Virgin: _That_ has a ring to it."

"How would that be possible? I thought Jonathan was his _son_?" the blonde asked.

"He _is_, you idiot," Mary leered.

"Then Valentine can't be a virgin if he has a son! Can he?"

"Of course he can't! Where do you think babies come from, stupid? The Post Office?"

Jada fought the urge to smile. Of all the people there, she knew best that Valentine Morgenstern was a far cry from being a virgin.

"Just shut up about it, will you?" Jada hissed half-heartedly, crossing her slender bronzed arms across her chest. "It doesn't matter either way. Valentine is going to find out about Eve and Jonathan eventually, whether I tell him about it or not. And I'd rather not get fired when he finds out that I kept the information from him, thank you very much."

"Well, there might not be much to tell," the maid on the floor said.

Jada shot her a peeved look. She had almost forgotten she was there. "Why not?"

"Because Eve just turned Jonathan down again."

The two standing maids looked on in murderous rage.

"She did _WHAT?_" they snapped in unison.

The two girls instantly scrambled to their knees and looked though the piece of open door. The sandy-haired maid had been right. Eve and Jonathan were no longer kissing or even holding each other, for that matter; they were standing now, and Eve was backing away from him with a rejecting shake of her golden head. Jonathan looked enraged.

"What is she _thinking_?" The blonde maid seethed in a whisper. "She's going to ruin _everything_… "

Jada was forced to agree: After all, Jonathan Morgenstern, by nature, was not a patient individual. He would give up on Eve if she didn't come to him easily enough… And surely Eve must have realized by now that it was her destiny to go to him without difficulty: She was born for Jonathan, to be his and his alone, whenever he so decided. It had been hammered into her head ever since she was eight years old…

Jada knew that she should have felt furious, because of it. She should have burst through the door and lectured Eve's ears off until her face was blue. That was her duty as her tutor, as Valentine's influence on Eve, but that wasn't what she felt: not anger or disappointment anything like it…

What she felt for Eve was a profound sort of sympathy.

And it was because of all those things that she felt it.

Eve was just a girl… She may have had superhuman abilities, and superhuman blood running through her veins, but she was still just a girl. And not even a _complicated_ girl, at that. Eve had always just wanted simple things from life, nothing more. She liked to roam in the fields outside in the summer; she liked to curl up by the fireplace with a book in the winter months. She studied when she was told to do so. She rarely ever tested authority. She trained herself to the brink to please Valentine. She was a normal, good-natured girl.

And she deserved somebody better than Jonathan Morgenstern – better than someone who would tear her sweet nature apart and use it to his advantage. She deserved someone who loved her for all the beautiful imperfections that made her _Eve_.

Jada was almost glad that Eve had turned Jonathan down, when she thought of it that way.

Jada flicked her black rippling hair away from her face and put an unenthusiastic glare on her face. "What are you three doing here, anyway?" Jada demanded at the maids. "Don't you have _work_ to do?"

The three maids paled sheepishly. The blonde and the brunette stood in an instant and inclined their heads to her respectfully. "Well, yes we did, Miss Jada – well, we do – but… then we came here and… and then you came too and…"

Jada didn't have the energy to be furious with them; thinking about Eve's pitiful fate had drained her. "I don't care what your excuses are: Get back to work. And as far as anyone is concerned, nothing happened between Jonathan and Eve."

"Yes, Miss Jada," they chorused stiffly, shuffling off down the hall.

Only the sandy-haired girl remained. "I was sent here by Mr. Morgenstern," the maid explained calmly, getting to her feet. "He asked me to summon Eve to him."

Jada nodded and turned to walk back down the hallway. "Get to it, then," Jada ordered with a wave of her hand. _It isn't like you will be interrupting anything between Jonathan and Eve…_

Once she had slipped out of the hallway, Jada heard the maid knock tentatively at the training-room door, and she glided silently to her own personal rooms.

She felt the strangest mixture of emotions, as she walked – the strangest combination of pride and pity – for her own, little Eve.

She couldn't help but smile while her black stilettos clicked down the marble hallway.

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><p><strong>So... What do you guys think of Jada? She comes up quite a bit... and I really enjoy writing her... She's so spunky!<strong>

**Anyways... I hope you enjoyed this chapter... And enjoy the next chapter as well... considering I posted two at the same time...**

**Love, Fishie...**


	9. Chapter 9: The Study

**Hey guys (part 2),**

**I really loved writing this chapter for some reason... (Which is funny because I love writing every chapter but... Anyway...) I think it is because this chapter introduces much of the plot that is coming up in Morgenstern Girl... And I had a blast writing the last section of this chapter, as well, so...(heheh..) **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments series... Sorry...**

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><p>Valentine's office had always seemed a bit like a throne-room to Eve: It was a place she was forbidden to enter without permission, a place that made her feel impossibly small when she <em>did<em> enter it, and a place that forced her to think strategically during every moment that she spent inside those walls. It was a beautiful room as well – a spacious semi-circle shape with full floor to ceiling bookshelves lining the walls. There was a beautiful view of the Idrisian countryside from the office's huge curved window, and the room was entirely furnished in dark, shining wood… It was almost a sacred space to Eve in a way.

And if the study-room was his throne-room, then she supposed that Valentine's 'throne' was his heavy mahogany office-desk. It was carved in the ornate, classical style of the baroque period and ever since Eve was six years old, she had always had the insane wish to sit behind that desk and swivel around in Valentine's high-backed office-chair, just to pretend for one single moment that she was Valentine, that _she_ was the master of the house – but usually whenever she came into the office, she ended up sitting where she was now – in the arm-chair in _front_ of that classically beautiful desk and being stared down by Valentine. And when Valentine stared you down, your daydreams usually vanished pretty quickly.

When she came in this time, though, he had not been sitting at his desk, and Eve counted it as a good thing. If she ever was in trouble (which was very rarely), Valentine would always be seated at his desk when she entered – partially to assume an air of total authority while he rattled off her crime and her punishment, and partially because he knew that he looked absolutely terrifying when he was sitting down.

But Valentine had been standing by a small ornate table at the far side of the room when she entered, pouring himself a glass of heavy-colored liquor from an impeccable crystal decanter. Scotch, she had thought: Valentine's personal favorite alcohol. His shirt cuffs were rolled up to his elbows casually, the first few buttons of his white collar undone. This was the most informal side of Valentine that Eve knew. It was strange for her to think that he could ever be any more relaxed than that – in _any_ circumstance.

She slid into her thick chair in front of the desk and waited. Her hands were trembling still, nervously shaking from when she had… had kissed Jonathan… and it wasn't something she was proud of. Was that why she was here? Had Valentine somehow found out that she had kissed Jonathan? Was he angry with her?

Eve blocked the thought from her mind and knotted her fingers together tightly in her lap.

Valentine turned to her, then, as if reading her mind.

He didn't look angry at all; in fact, he looked almost pleased to see her. Humor flicked in his black eyes, tugging at the faint smile on his pale lips… He almost looked like Jonathan when he smiled like that, Eve thought. She could easily see where Jonathan had gotten his marble-statue good-looks.

"There are very few times that I am ever wrong," she heard Valentine say in his resonant voice. He took a sip from his glass in one single, elegant motion. "But when I decided that it would be a good idea to socialize you at dinner tonight," he continued after. "That was most certainly wrong."

Eve had to concentrate to remember what Valentine was talking about: So many things had happened since dinner; dinner seemed so ludicrously distant. She could see Jonathan's face in her mind's eye… His gaze burning blackly as he dipped his lips down to kiss hers…

_No_, her mind screamed, shoving the memory away. _Don't_ _think_ _of_ _him_. _Pangborn. Pangborn is who Valentine is talking about._

"Forgive me, Valentine," Eve told him out-loud. She pulled her rippling golden hair to one shoulder and began toying nervously with the edges of her loose waist-length curls. Her gaze was stuck to the engraved edge of Valentine's desk; she wondered absently how many thousands of dollars it had cost him. "Did I cause you any trouble?"

Valentine took another sip of his scotch. He was smiling. "None that can't be fixed. You gouged the marble of my dining table, though. With your fork."

She blushed. "F – Forgive me," she stuttered. "I shouldn't have done it."

"No…You did exactly what you should have done, Eve." A note of anger seeped into Valentine's bassy voice, making her glance up at him. His smile had disappeared.

"Then you… Aren't you angry with me?" she asked.

Valentine paused. He seemed genuinely surprised for a moment, but it passed in an instant, replaced by a carefully controlled expression. "No…" he slowly said. Their gazes locked across the room. "I'm not angry with you." He set his half-filled glass down beside the decanter and slid over to an expensive looking cabinet in the corner. The gilded edges gleamed with dull, time-worn gold. "And what I wanted you here for has nothing to do with Pangborn."

Eve looked on in silent curiosity as Valentine slid a narrow, stainless steel box out of the cabinet and brought it over to the desk. She knotted her hands back in her lap again as soon as he approached. If she hadn't, he would have noticed how badly they were shaking.

Valentine set the box on the desk with an air of finality. Sitting in front of his standing form, Eve felt impossibly small. "Do you trust me, Eve?" he simply asked her.

What a strange question, she thought. Of course she trusted Valentine. "Yes," she replied.

After one last moment of studying her, Valentine looked away and unclasped the steel case on the desk. Eve saw inside it as he opened the lid, and started to feel slightly worried. Inside the narrow case was a set of syringes – ones used for taking blood.

She extended her right arm to Valentine before she could hesitate, resting it on the mahogany desk's thick edge. He took a wickedly tipped needle out of the case and thoughtfully considered it. It was as if he might have liked to choose a different instrument. In the end though, he decided to keep the syringe in his hand; apparently he had decided better than to change it.

His cool fingers were oddly reassuring as one of his hands gently cradled her forearm; but then, Valentine's grip was always so calm, so mild, so steady… She had never found a reason to doubt him before.

Eve pulled the dark sleeve of her (she wasn't going to admit that it was Jonathan's) shirt up to her elbow, exposing the soft skin of her inner-arm. The gesture made her feel insanely vulnerable in a strange way. Then, with a skilled, precise hand, Valentine lowered the needle to kiss her skin. There was a moment of a soft pinching sort of pain, and then there was nothing.

"May I know what this is for?" Eve asked politely. Her gaze was fixed on Valentine's neutral face, but it was less about reading that face for an answer and more about having an excuse to not look at the needle in her arm. The sight of her own blood in a syringe always made her nervous.

Within a moment, he drew the syringe smoothly from her arm. She had barely even noticed the feeling of it being there: Valentine had years of practice with taking her blood; he was better than any doctor.

She saw him cap the needle, and, with a shudder, caught a glimpse of scarlet liquid in the syringe's hollow tube. Eve told herself it was red paint.

"I'll tell you what I'm doing when there is something to tell," Valentine responded diplomatically. "As of now, all I have is a simple theory…"

"Is this for Jonathan?" Eve put in quietly.

Valentine shot her a look. He looked guarded for a second; then he smiled. "I can't keep anything from you, can I?" he told her, walking around to the opposite side of his desk. He slipped the syringe into a drawer there. "Yes, this is for Jonathan."

She wasn't surprised. Over the years, Valentine had tried hundreds of methods to cure Jonathan of his 'sickness,' as he called it. In other words, Valentine was trying to rid his son of the demonic blood in his veins, without taking away the super-human abilities it gave him. So far it hadn't worked.

Valentine returned to the decanter in the corner and filled his glass again with scotch, wordlessly. Eve waited patiently for him to dismiss her, but when he didn't, she started to feel restless. There was a long moment of silence.

"Valentine?" she asked timidly. "Is this all you asked me here for?"

A smile curled his mouth. "Yes. You may go," he told her. "But I have a feeling you won't get very far."

Curiosity tugged at Eve's conscience, but she didn't question him. She gracefully stood and moved toward the door – when it spontaneously slammed open. Eve jumped backward, her eyes flashing wide with fear as she saw who was in the threshold.

It was Jada, looking as angry as a hailstorm.

Her hands rested indignantly on her hips, her feet shoulder-width apart. She was taller than Eve in her stiletto heels, and Eve noticed belatedly that Jada had changed from her outfit earlier. She was wearing a tight, short black dress now – one that made her toned bronze legs seem like they were miles long. It made Eve feel acutely jealous, until she saw Jada's face.

Jada's beautiful, sun-kissed features were flushed with fury, and her tumbled raven hair fell around her like a glimmering shadow; she looked like some angry goddess of war. Her narrow brown eyes flashed dangerously as she pointed to Eve.

"_You_," she demanded venomously. "_Sit_."

Eve sat automatically.

Jada stormed over to where Eve sat and began pacing in front of her like an aggravated panther in a cage. Eve sunk into her seat helplessly.

She glanced Valentine's way, in hope of some sort of aid, but Valentine didn't seem too inclined to care. He was watching Jada pacing in front of her with his scotch in hand. Amusement glinted in his black eyes, along with something else.

She glanced back at Jada and immediately regretted it. Her dark judging glare was enough to melt a steel wall. "I suppose you know what this is about, Eve," Jada began sternly.

She had stopped her pacing now and was tapping her toe on the marble floor. She loomed over Eve with a Valentine-like air of total authority, which made Eve wish she could disappear into her chair. She nodded at Jada shyly.

"I despair over you!" her tutor growled, throwing her hands in the air. For some reason, Eve thought that her heart wasn't entirely in her rant. "At what point did I ever teach you that _stabbing_ _someone_ was appropriate table-manners?"

"But Jada – Pangborn –"

"It doesn't matter what Pangborn did. You should never have stabbed him." Jada glided over to Valentine in a few purposeful strides and made a sharp gesture towards him once she was at his side. They looked like two total opposites: Valentine all pale skin and hair, Jada with her gypsy-like bronze skin and raven hair – She looking furious, Valentine looking mildly entertained… "If Valentine and I were to eat dinner together, I would never stab him with my fork. "Why?"

_Because he's Valentine Morgenstern_, Eve replied inwardly. _He'd probably kill you if you tried._

"Because it isn't _lady-like_," answered Jada. "That's why."

Valentine wordlessly handed his half-filled glass of scotch to Jada and she took it without looking at him. They seemed to know each other's actions instinctively, like they were one single unit, and not two different people. Jada took a sip from his glass, still glaring in Eve's direction, though again, Jada's glare seemed half-hearted, as if she wasn't actually angry. Something almost caring gleamed behind Jada's pretty brown eyes.

A spasm of annoyance suddenly flashed through Eve's mind – as consuming as lightening: Her body ached from the two training sessions she had had that day, her 'new clothes' felt clingy and uncomfortable on her skin, her lips blazed painfully from where Jonathan had kissed her, her hands were still helplessly shaking, and Jada's nagging voice echoed in her head.

She wanted to scream.

"Tell me, does Valentine normally grab at your legs during dinner?" Eve countered coldly instead.

There was a long moment of total silence, where Jada and Valentine both stared at Eve with matching expressions of blank surprise. Then Jada choked on her scotch.

She spun around and plunked the glass clumsily back on the table beside the decanter, coughing and sputtering and blushing violently. Valentine didn't move to help her; his lips only curled up at the corners, and he crossed his arms across his broad chest.

Jada spun to face Eve, then, sending her black hair flying. A wild defensiveness glinted in her wide eyes. "I – I don't know what you are talking about!" she stammered unevenly. "Of course not!"

Eve's jaw tightened stubbornly. "Then you can't really compare your behavior to mine."

She saw Jada throw a quick glance at Valentine. But the second Jada noticed Valentine's amused expression, she glared at him shamelessly. Jada's eyes met Valentine's for a second, then his smile widened, and her gaze sharply flicked back to Eve. She was fuming with rage, or was the redness in her cheeks from something else entirely?

"Get out," Jada commanded in a dangerously calm voice. "Get out, Eve."

There was a long pause, where Eve was paralyzed, unable to move; then Valentine gracefully picked up his glass from the small table and inclined his head to the door. _Go, Eve,_ his dark eyes seemed to say.

Eve obeyed; Valentine's word was law, whether she felt like she could move or not. She stood and walked toward the office door.

"Oh," Valentine added. "One more thing." Eve turned to look at him. "It has been four months since your sixteenth birthday, Eve, and you still haven't told me what you wanted," he continued.

She glanced away. Valentine always gave her and Jonathan whatever they desired for their birthdays; And Eve had the quaint little habit of putting the decision off until she had thought of something meaningful. "I haven't decided, yet," she muttered solemnly. "I want to make sure it is something worthwhile, when I choose."

He smiled; Eve guessed that he had already known what her answer would be. "You may go."

The last thing she saw as she left was Valentine smirking from behind his glass of scotch, and Jada looking very much like an imprisoned angel as her strained hand gripped the table's edge.

* * *

><p>As soon as the door closed behind Eve, Jada immediately turned on Valentine. She snatched the glass of scotch from his hand violently, plunked it on the table, and glowered at him.<p>

"_You_ _**smiled**_," Jada accused. She jabbed at his chest judgingly with one, slender finger. It seemed to please him in some bizarre way. "What the _hell_ did you _**smile**__ for_?"

His smirk widened then; he chuckled. If he hadn't looked so good in that moment, as he did it, Jada probably would have slapped him.

Valentine shrugged elegantly. "Eve is amusing. Why _wouldn't_ I smile?" he asked smoothly.

She threw her hands in the air in frustration and spun away from Valentine, muttering a few Italian obscenities under her breath. They had made an unspoken agreement to keep anything 'romance-related' between them entirely confidential: it didn't help the secrecy of things if Valentine went around grinning every time somebody implied something sexual between them.

She balled her hands into fists. "Why do you always answer my questions with questions?" Jada demanded instead, sliding irritably toward his desk. "I hate it when you do that."

"_You_ just answered my question with a question, by saying that," Valentine pointed out. "That seems a little hypocritical, don't you think?"

Jada sighed and drooped into Valentine's office chair. She was slumped in it sideways: with her shoulders resting against one mahogany chair-arm and her long legs hanging loosely over the other. She then raised her slender hands to either side of her face and rubbed her aching temples. A long bubble bath – that was what she needed. Actually, anything relaxing and spa-related would do…

"There you go with the questions again," Jada snapped in annoyance. "You're exasperating, Valentine Morgenstern," She paused then and saw him smile. "And I would like to point out, for the record, that that answer was NOT a question," she added.

He grinned and wordlessly turned to the table, filling his glass with more scotch.

Jada slipped her legs from the chair-arm and stood up again. She smoothed down her black dress discreetly and shook her dark, thick hair out – and caught Valentine silently sneaking a glance her way as she did it. A touch of pride coursed through her, then. How many women would kill to be in her position? How many women would sell their soul to the devil to be who she was?

She flicked her tumbled hair back as she walked towards Valentine, and his black eyes darkened impossibly as she neared him, but he said nothing as she reached behind him to the table for his newly filled glass of scotch. He always had had expensive tastes, Jada thought as she took a sip from the crystal glass. It was one of the things she liked most about Valentine Morgenstern.

She looked up at him furtively as she swallowed, then she coyly shifted her gaze to the door. "I should go," Jada told him, setting the glass back down. The blaze of the alcohol in her throat cleared her head. "– and talk to Eve."

There was a moment where he simply looked at her, and Jada thought she may have read the look in his eyes wrongly, then before she could blink, he took her lightly by the waist and pulled her to him, and she was within the familiar, strong circle of Valentine Morgenstern's arms.

She smiled as she glanced up at him, knowing full well that she had read him right. Not that it was strange, Jada supposed; she _had_ had eight years of practice.

With an insistent cough, though, Jada tried to pull away from his embrace and move towards the door – well, she _tried to,_ at least.

Valentine wouldn't let her go. His grip on her waist suddenly became iron, she noticed with a small measure of satisfaction. He had realized that she was trying to desert him, and his charming smile had disappeared: He didn't seem inclined to let her leave at all as he frowned down at her.

_Oh, yes…_ Jada thought to herself with a grin. _Impatience: The other thing that she liked most about Valentine._

"Where are you going?" he demanded petulantly.

His black eyes were storming moodily. She glanced down at his grip on her waist.

"Nowhere," she replied with a wicked smile. "If you don't let me go."

She saw him scowl and Jada batted her pretty long eyelashes up at him. But Valentine's grip didn't loosen on her. So she slipped her arms effortlessly around his strong neck, her fingers toying with his white collar playfully. He seemed to get the picture as she ran her hands leisurely down his chest; it was like she had all the time in the world. His gaze didn't waver away from hers as she did it.

She saw those eyes darken further as he leaned his lips down to kiss hers.

She knew exactly what he wanted.

"I'm going to see Eve," Jada chuckled in a low voice, before those lips could press down over hers. She had plenty to discuss with Eve, after all. Namely about her little fiasco with Jonathan, not that Valentine knew anything about _that…_

He gave her a quick dissatisfied look, as if he would have liked to challenge her decision, but he didn't. Jada's gaze was level and steady where it met his, as if she had to discuss something urgent with Eve.

It seemed to convince him, either way. His arms fell grudgingly to his sides and Jada victoriously pulled away and took a step towards the door. She only stopped when she saw the discontented expression on Valentine's face.

"No need to get your knickers in a knot," Jada assured him over her shoulder, smiling devilishly. "I'll be back…"

Valentine sulkily returned to the table and took his glass of scotch in his hand. "You always are," he grumbled irritably.

She grinned.

With one last flick of her wavy raven hair, Jada glided out of Valentine's office and into the dark corridor, heading straight in the direction of Eve's bedroom.

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><p><strong>So... How'd you like the chapter? I had oodles of fun writing the last piece... Call me crazy... Anyway... (Wow, I say anyway alot...) <strong>

**I have a little bit of an option for the readers... I have next chapter mostly planned out and it is going to be a cute/ sentimental Eve/Jada chapter so... here are the options: **

**I can end it on a thoughtful sad tone, _OR_**

**I can add a whole other drop dead halarious chapter to it... (The halarious chapter is Jada/Valentine if that affects your decision at all...)**

**It is yours to choose! Reply via reviewing PLZ! **

**What a good fanfic author I am! :) ... (Pats myself on the back...)**

**Until next time!**

**Love, Fishie **


	10. Chapter 10: Female Bonding Moment?

**Well, hello everyone!**

**Woohoo! Chapters have hit double digits!... ****I feel like I haven't updated in awhile, even though I have... What a strange feeling... This chapter, I'll admit was an exciting one for me to write. Partially because it introduces some of the drama that will surface throughout the story, and partially because I am getting ever closer to the actual plot of the story... I kind of find it hard to believe that this was only the intro... But I wanted to make sure that all of the characters in the story were very well-introduced. **

**For those of you who read Eden, I haven't forgotten the story! I just wanted to make sure that I updated this chapter first, which sort of took time to get to... Sorry... :)... If you do read Eden, though, you may get a bit more gasps out of this chapter... just because you know some info that happens in our little Eve's future... and why it may end up playing a part in the big picture...**

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING!**

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><p>Eve flopped into her canopy bed for the second time that evening, buried her face in her cluster of pillows and let out a muffled scream.<p>

That night could not have possibly gotten worse.

She had been thrown down a ravine, caught by Valentine in an EXTREEMLY compromising situation with Jonathan; her tutor, Jada, had taken all of her clothes away; she had had her first actual meal with someone outside of Valentine's manor, only to stab said person violently with a fork; and last but not least, she had received her (mind-blowingly fantastic) very first kiss – which had come from the gorgeous _Jonathan Morgenstern_, no less – and then she had ruined the perfect moment with her own, stupid hesitation. And then after all that, when Eve thought things couldn't have possibly gotten worse, she had made Jada furious at her.

In Eve's eyes, there was really little else that she could have done to ruin her life at that point: she wondered absently if it was cosmically possible for one night to be so awful.

As if on queue, Eve heard her bedroom door slam open, but she didn't move to get off the bed. She groaned, and knew that the night _could_ – in fact – have gotten worse. After all, only one person in the Manor wore high-heels, and the figure who just walked in was clicking with every step; Eve already guessed who it would be.

"You aren't allowed to sleep yet, Eve," she heard Jada say – although her tutor's tone was soft and kind, which was surprising. Eve had expected her to be livid with her. "We're having a female bonding moment. Get out of bed."

Eve glanced towards the door, saw Jada's rippling dark hair and gorgeous hourglass body floating in the doorway, and frowned. Any fleeting hope that she was having some terrible hallucination and hearing voices became a sad impossibility.

Without a noise of protest, Eve climbed out of her ruby-colored canopy bed and glided over to the warm, still-smoldering fireplace. There were a few arm-chairs placed there, perfect for sitting and talking, but Jada didn't seem interested in that sitting arrangement. She ushered Eve over to her full-length mirror, dragged a padded stool in front of the glass, and motioned for Eve to sit down in it.

Eve did as she was asked.

The faster she 'bonded' with Jada, the faster she could go back to lying in her warm bed.

In one, graceful motion, Jada reached over to the little table beside Eve's bed and produced her heavy, silver hair-brush. Tenderly, Jada stood over Eve and began running the brush through her student's waist-length, golden twists of hair.

It caught Eve off-guard: both the motherly, affectionate care in Jada's touch, as well as the feel of someone else brushing her hair; no one had done anything like it since she was ten years old. The steady pulling motion relaxed Eve, making her feel instantly calm – but not so calm that she wasn't slightly suspicious of Jada's motives.

Eve paused thoughtfully, glancing shyly at her toes. "How exactly do 'female bonding moments' work?" she asked Jada, timidly. "I don't think I've had one before."

Jada smiled, then: and that smile had no spite, or anger, or authority in it. Jada looked even more beautiful than _usual_ when she smiled like that, Eve noticed with awe. She had not known that such a thing was possible.

"Normally, bonding moments begin when one woman reveals a deep dark secret to another woman," Jada began. "– and they discuss the emotional impacts of the aforesaid secret together and offer advice. Although the 'secret-telling part' is hardly necessary in this case," Jada chuckled quietly. "I already know your secret, Eve; I just came for the emotional-impact discussing/ advice offering portion of this bonding moment."

Eve pouted. "Well, that doesn't seem fair."

Jada paused mid-stroke, with the hair-brush in hand. "What doesn't seem fair?"

"That you get to know all of _my_ secrets and I don't get to know _any_ of yours."

Jada's smile widened wickedly, then.

"Once when I was mad at Valentine," Jada said with delight. "I may or may not have pretended that you were having feminine issues, just so he would give me his credit card without questions, and I may or may not have used it to buy twenty thousand dollars' worth of Buccellati jewelry and six pairs of next-season Jimmy Choo high-heels."

Eve's blue eyes flashed wide with shock. "Jada!" she sputtered in disbelief. "You wouldn't – you didn't –"

"I didn't say I did," Jada replied with a neutral, elegant shrug. She dropped a conspiring wink at Eve through the reflection in the mirror though, and Eve happened to notice that Jada's footwear at the moment was, in fact, a pair of black, suede, Jimmy Choo heels.

Eve blinked at her. "Did Valentine find out?"

Jada paused. "Yes."

"Did he make you pay him back?"

Jada smiled like the devil, her chocolate-brown eyes darkening with memory. "You could say that."

She ran the brush another few times through Eve's hair before either of them spoke again. To Eve's surprise, it was her own voice – not Jada's – that finally broke the heavy silence.

"Is this about me… and… Jonathan?" Eve asked quietly.

Jada's smile softened. "It is,_ uccello_."

Eve nodded quietly. "How much do you know?"

"Enough to know that you kissed Jonathan… and to know that you turned him down…"

"No!" Eve stuttered suddenly. "I – I didn't mean to turn Jonathan _down_ – I – It isn't like that… It just … it didn't seem right somehow, at the time… I didn't mean to –" Eve turned her head slightly, glancing worriedly at her tutor. "Did I really _refuse_ Jonathan? Is that how it seemed?"

Jada paused thoughtfully. "Yes," she replied. "And I think that was how Jonathan took it as well…"

Eve wanted to bury her face mournfully in her hands. If Jonathan thought she had turned him down… it would ruin everything… everything she had been taught… every discussion… every moment of training… her entire purpose in life… It would all be gone.

"Jada?" Eve asked weakly. "Do … do you think Jonathan will forgive me? Maybe if I explain… If I tell him that I was just nervous…"

Jada stopped brushing her hair for a moment. "That depends, Eve. _Were_ you just nervous when you turned him down?"

Eve thought about it for a second – but no; she hadn't been nervous at all when she pulled away from Jonathan… She had been thinking all too clearly.

"No," Eve admitted. "I… I wasn't feeling nervous at all."

"Then don't lie about it," Jada told her simply. "If you didn't feel in love with him, there was probably a reason for it."

"But Jada," Eve cut in. "I … I _have_ to be in love with Jonathan, don't I? It is why Valentine is raising me… it is why I was born…"

"Forget all that, Eve," Jada answered softly. "You don't have to pretend like you love Jonathan Morgenstern if you don't… Not now. Not with me."

The words sunk in slowly, like a fine mist.

Eve glanced into the mirror and saw Jada's somber gaze searching for hers, and she was surprised to see that Jada actually looked sincere. She _really_ was willing to listen to what Eve had to say.

There was a moment of pause, where Eve was totally silent.

She knew what she should have said: She should have said that she absolutely loved Jonathan, that he was her soul-mate…

But it would have been a lie.

"I _don't_ know if I love Jonathan or not," Eve responded, fidgeting with her fingers. "I mean I _do_ care for him… I _do_… but how am I to know if I really _love_ Jonathan? I mean… well… It's different when you're in _love_, isn't it – different than when you are just friends? But I've never even _met_ another boy my age, except for Jonathan… How can I compare friendship to love when I haven't had both yet?"

Jada nodded knowingly.

"Well, what is it that you dislike about Jonathan? What made you not want to kiss him?" she questioned softly, running the brush through Eve's hair again.

Eve sighed. "He's impatient… he's moody… and he's conceited: One moment he will be joking around with me, and the next moment he will be furious at me. I … I never really know what he is feeling. And by the time I _do_ finally figure out what his feelings are, they will have already changed three times over. It's like being in love with an ever-changing cloud of smoke… And when he kissed me… I don't know…" Eve looked away from the mirror, blushing. "I didn't feel like myself…"

Jada smiled gently, tenderly pulling a stand of golden hair behind Eve's ear. "And what do you _love_ about him?"

There was a moment of silence, and then Eve smiled too. How could she not? It was Jonathan they were talking about.

"I love the way he makes me laugh," she replied fondly. "And I love the way that, at times, he can be so kind to me… It's like, every once in awhile I get to see who he really is… and I love those flashes of kindness… They almost outweigh the bad moments."

"But not quite, I'm guessing?" Jada added.

"I suppose not," Eve answered. "I mean, I would never have turned him down if I believed he was _good_,right? … Aren't you expected to just _know_ when you are in love? Like when Elizabeth realizes that she truly loves Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice…?"

Jada laughed. "Love is not like it is in the story books, _bambina. _In real life, love does not always work out."

The words struck Eve. She sat perfectly still as Jada started braiding her golden hair into one thick rope.

"Jada?" Eve asked quietly.

"Yes?"

"Have you… ever been in love?"

Jada's hands froze on Eve's hair – suddenly, as if they had been injected with ice. Eve could even feel Jada's body tense behind her, her muscles winding tight. "Why would you ask that?" she inquired slowly.

Eve immediately regretted asking Jada the question in the first place. She caught a glimpse of her tutor's expression in the mirror and knew that her question had tugged on one of Jada's nerves.

"It – it's alright," Eve told her hastily. "I – I shouldn't have asked. It isn't any of my business."

Jada finished braiding Eve's hair in silence, keeping her eyes downcast. Her long, thick eyelashes hid her pretty brown irises completely.

"No," Jada replied finally. "No, I don't mind that you asked me, Eve… It is in the past now, anyway…"

The memory of the office came back to her; Eve couldn't fight down her curiosity. "Was… was it Valentine that you loved?" Eve asked.

Jada's expression became stricken. She glanced hastily away from Eve at that moment, and Eve had sickening sense that she had hurt Jada's feelings. Jada who was so unbreakable, Jada who was so carefully controlled; her question had _hurt_ her. It was a shock to Eve, who had spent her life thinking Jada had no complicated feelings at all.

"I'm sorry," Eve put in. "I would never have said anything, but… It – it was just a guess…"

Jada slowly set the hairbrush back on Eve's side-table. Her slender hand was shaking, but when she turned back to Eve, there was a smile on her face. Eve noticed distractedly that Jada had balled her hand into a tight fist. "No… It isn't Valentine that I was talking about…" she said simply. "The man I loved… his name was Argyle – Argyle Silverspear."

With a flick of her raven hair, Jada glided over to Eve's canopy bed and stiffly pulled back the gold-trimmed, ruby blankets. Eve followed behind Jada obediently and climbed under the covers wordlessly. She felt like she was a little girl again.

"Did he love you, too?" Eve asked, once settled into bed.

Jada winced slightly, as if the question had pained her in some physical way. "Yes. He did."

"Then… why didn't it work out between you two?"

Eve wished she could have pulled back her words as soon as they left her lips. She thought she was very stupid to ask that, indeed. Jada was using the past-tense… What if this Argyle character had died? How horrible it would be for Eve to bring it up… especially when Jada had been so kind to her that evening…

Jada cleared her throat then, and swallowed harshly.

"Sometimes, Eve," Jada said in a soft, even tone. "– when you are in love – _really_ in love – with someone, you have to sacrifice for them: Argyle… Argyle is foolish, he always has been; and he was willing to give up far too much for me… But…I was a burden to him… and I knew that he was better off without me. So I left him."

Eve watched sadly as Jada pulled away from the bed and turned towards the door.

That answer seemed even more tragic to Eve than the idea of Jada's young lover dying. It offended her sense of romantic justice. She wondered if this 'Argyle Silverspear' still cared for Jada, if he had still loved her throughout the passing of the years… Or maybe he had forgotten about her as the time went on… Eve wondered if Jada was only a pleasant memory to him now – like a well-loved chapter in an old, favorite book.

Jada lingered in Eve's bedroom doorway, her posture stiff. "I don't know if you will know it instantly when you find love, Eve, and I don't even know for sure if Jonathan Morgenstern is the man that you will fall in love with… And maybe I'm not the best person to be giving you love advice – but I know that when you love once, Eve – when you _truly_ love once – you never really love again." Jada glanced over her shoulder at her student with a sad smile. "Just… be careful who you give your heart to, Eve," Jada finished. "You never know how your life will turn out."

Eve nodded obediently as Jada slipped into the corridor beyond, her throat feeling unbearably tight.

"Good night," called Eve, ignoring the catch in her own voice.

Jada smiled again, pulling the door shut. Her chocolate eyes were miserable.

"Goodnight, _bambina_," Jada replied gently.

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><p>After she had closed Eve's door, Jada leaned against the cold, pale, stone wall for a long time, listening to the silence and staring pointedly at a section of the vaulted ceiling. She didn't really feel like she was going to cry, but feminine emotions were a mysterious thing, even to her: she never had any idea if or when she was actually going to cry or not – the sentiment came and went in seemingly random intervals – but Jada had already shed hours of tears for Argyle Silverspear in the last eight years.<p>

She had assumed that her feelings for him had all dried up.

Jada had to admit, however, that she wasn't feeling particularly emotionally _stable_ at the moment, either. Her hands were shaking violently for one thing, and her heart was slamming against her ribs in a way that was almost painful…

She sighed.

Maybe the feelings hadn't ebbed as much as she had thought.

Even then, she could see Argyle in her mind's eye, as clear as a photograph – and the thought was a beautiful sort of agony. What she had said to Eve was true. She had loved once. But it had been an impossible love.

Argyle Silverspear had been heir to a rich, venerable Shadowhunter family; she had been a penniless orphan, with nothing to her name but her beauty and her cleverness and her charming little brother. Argyle had had the best of education at Alicante's prestigious Shadowhunter Academy, and had been far on his way to becoming one of the Silent Brothers. He had dreams to follow. She, on the other hand, had never had the luxury of any of those things.

Their love for each other had kept him from finally joining the Brotherhood, even though his family vehemently disapproved of the relationship, and had threatened to disown him. The Silent Brothers lived lives of solitude, after all. He could not have had a life with Jada and have his dreams at the same time. So he had chosen her.

But he had been a fool. And she had refused to let him sacrifice his dreams in favor of her shortcomings.

So she had left him.

Of course, it had been better for her, in the end. She had joined the Circle. She had gotten the position of tutoring Eve. She had met Valentine.

Jada cringed, then.

No. She… couldn't think of Valentine when she was thinking of Argyle. It offended her conscience. Not that she _didn't_ care for Valentine: she _did_ care for him, in a way. But… It was not the same with him as it had been with Argyle.

The last thing she had left of Argyle was her memories of him. And… those memories were precious and personal to her. She would never dirty them by thinking of Valentine at the same time: A huge part of her still belonged to Argyle Silverspear, although she would rather die than admit it.

She glanced warily down the corridor, to her left, which led to Valentine's office.

He was waiting for her, she knew. She should have gone to him. But she looked to her right, which led to her own room, and the temptation was impossible to resist. _Five minutes in her room alone_, she told herself. _Five minutes to get Argyle off of her mind. Five minutes by herself, and then she would go to Valentine. _

She nodded wordlessly to herself, then marched off in the direction of her bedroom.

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><p><strong>What do you think? I kind of like Jada's character... You will see why she does some of the things that she does within the next two chapters...<strong>

**LOL... I find it kind of funny that this was just _one day_ in Eve's poor, little life... By the way, I will totally have more Eve/ Jonathan in the next chapter or two, I really just wanted to set up this Jada story as a base for Eden, where it plays a pretty big part in Eve's story... Hang in there, folks!**

**PS: I'm still really undecided if I want the next chapter to be funny, or if I should just continue with the plot... I kind of want to keep the flow of the story... Review with your thoughts.**

**Love, Fishie.**


	11. Chapter 11: Trouble in Paradise

**Hello Readers, Happy Holidays!**

**As promised, I have given you more Eve/ Jonathan... (*everyone cheers*)... Here the action starts heating up,... Muahaha... I am so close to the main plot of this story that I can taste it! Every chapter is one step closer... In three or four more chapters...**

**Anyways! Hoping that you enjoy this chapter... Oh, and PS: By the way, there will never, I repeat, will NEVER be any lemons in this story, or any of my stories for that matter... Somebody, I know is out there crying at the news... (*everyone cheers*)...**

**Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS!**

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><p>Valentine left the next day.<p>

He had not said why.

Messengers had come to the Manor early that next morning, when the sky was still black with night, carrying an urgent report of some kind for him. That, however, had been as much information as Eve could piece together at the time. The message _must_ have been very urgent, indeed, she had supposed, because Valentine had left less than a half an hour later – alone, on horseback, without so much as a word to anyone. He had not even revealed his intent to Jonathan, which was strange. Valentine usually told his son everything.

His absence came as a relief to Eve.

It wasn't that she didn't like Valentine – she happened to like him very much – but whenever Valentine left the Manor, all of the little formalities that he imposed went with him. That meant no more formal dinners together. No more formal training sessions. No more rigid schedule…

In other words: she didn't have to be anywhere near Jonathan Morgenstern… Eve felt on top of the world.

After all, if she didn't have to be around Jonathan, then she wouldn't have to talk to him – and if she didn't have to talk to Jonathan, then she would never have to confront him about the newest change in their relationship: that dreaded, new, romantic change… Of course, Valentine would eventually have to come back to the Manor sometime, but at least Eve felt like could procrastinate until then. Her meals and her studies had all been taken in her personal rooms in the last three days since Valentine's departure, and so far, there hadn't been any conflict yet with 'young master' Morgenstern.

Eve was curled up in the cozy armchair in front of her fireplace, with a book balanced open on her lap. It was the fourth day now, since Valentine had left, and it had been a wonderfully lazy morning; Jada had only assigned Eve some readings to do as her lesson for the day – claiming that she needed the day to herself to have, what Jada called, 'emergency tutor spa therapy' – and Eve had basically finished the readings, now that it was almost noon. She hadn't really eaten at all that morning, which Valentine would have lectured her for, but she didn't feel too bad about it, considering that she hadn't even _changed_ out of her nightclothes yet…

At the thought of her black nightgown, Eve smiled a bit: Out of all the new clothes that Jada had forced upon her, the nightgowns were her favorite. They were luxurious, comfortable, silky garments that showed a shocking amount of her pale skin; that particular one, for example, only reached halfway down her thighs and flaunted her bare arms shamelessly. Not that modesty really mattered when you were asleep, she told herself rebelliously.

In truth, if Valentine _ever_ found out that she wore _anything_ like that – at _**ANY**_ point of her day, he probably would have died of a heart-attack.

'_If_ he found out,' being the key words.

Eve finished the last page of her text quickly and closed the book with relish. Usually, she enjoyed her studies, but when it came to theology in Romanian, the reading became a little odious. People all shared a similar thought process; whether they thought it in Italian, English, Greek, Russian, French, or any other language that she had read it in, for that matter. Eve understood the exercise was more to get her to read Romanian than anything else, but she had already mastered the Romanian language years ago. It seemed a bit redundant for her to continue with simple reading exercises now.

In one single, fluid motion, Eve rose to her feet and shrugged on her floor-length, silk housecoat. It was colored like everything else in her room – in deep, crimson red with gold accents – but it had a lovely, kimono-like design of birds in flight on the flared sleeves. Eve thought it was absolutely beautiful.

She wondered, for a moment, if maybe she should have gotten changed out of her tiny nightgown before returning her book to the library, but then she chose against it. Who was going to see her in it, anyway? Jada? The maids?

The golden hem of her housecoat trailed along the polished floor, whispering like flowing water as Eve made her way out of her room and into the corridors. It seemed oddly quiet there, probably because the staff were busy preparing the afternoon meal, she reminded herself. Her unshod feet padded silently against the cold marble, like a cat's paws, and the unwelcoming air chilled her bare legs. She felt totally alone in the massive stone mansion; the thought made her feel an abrupt twinge of unhappiness.

It was Jonathan who normally walked around the Manor with her when Valentine was gone… Jonathan who kept her company within these forlorn walls… Jonathan who made this building into a _home_… He was missing from her side now, and Eve realized that his absence felt entirely, profoundly wrong to her… like some essential piece of her soul was missing…

Eve's cheeks turned a mild shade of red, and she clutched her book tighter to her chest.

Maybe what she had said to Jada had been wrong.

Maybe she felt something for Jonathan Morgenstern, after all.

Eve shook her head as she kept walking… No. She refused to think that way about Jonathan. It was ridiculous for her to even pander after him, after everything that had happened in the last few days… He probably hated her, either way…

She turned around the corner noiselessly – and stopped dead.

The corridor had opened into a long, high-ceilinged foyer. And at the end of that foyer, with his back facing her, was a familiar, tall, athletic figure, with dark clothes and a cap of tumbled silver-white hair.

Jonathan.

Eve sucked in a horrified gasp, swiveled back around the corner, and glued her shoulders to the marble wall. She tried not to breathe. Jonathan was a master at discerning his surroundings; if she so much as moved, he probably would have sensed her there. Praying that she hadn't been detected, Eve froze in her hiding spot, counting silently to sixty in her head as her fingers numbed against her iron-gripped book. Her heart was pounding like a hammer against her ribs, her waist-length, golden hair gleaming in the dim light; Eve wondered absently if it was possible for a racing heart to crack somebody's ribs from within. It felt like hers might.

Only a full minute later, once her pulse had slowed to a less-frightening pace and she was certain that no noise was coming from the foyer, did Eve finally decide to peel herself away from the wall. Some of her hair clung to the back of her neck, where a light, clammy sweat had budded on her skin. She took a deep breath and pulled her golden curls away from her cold sticky neck.

_The coast is clear_, she told herself. _Jonathan is gone. No reason to worry_.

She fought the urge to laugh out loud.

So much for 'feeling something' for Jonathan. She couldn't even look him in the eye without wanting to run and hide…

Eve wandered around the corner again – then almost screamed.

Jonathan was less than an inch away from her, lounging just on the opposite side of the wall. His arms were crossed over his chest moodily, and his black eyes were flashing at her like angry, blazing coals.

Apparently he had sensed her, after all.

Eve flinched in surprise at his presence and her book slipped from her grasp. She fumbled for it, but in the end, she was too startled to catch the heavy volume before it plummeted to the stone floor. She cringed in disappointment and guilt, hoping that the book wasn't damaged. Usually she was faster than that.

Through an enormous act of will, she glanced up at Jonathan, her blue eyes meeting his black ones. He was still scowling down at her and she swallowed anxiously; so loudly that she was certain she could hear it echoing throughout the massive foyer. Her mouth tried to choke out something to say to him, but she was too on edge to say a word. She ended up silently chewing on her bottom lip – in her typical, nervous fashion – peeking up at him through her thick eyelashes, waiting for him to make the first move.

He glared at her.

"You've been _ignoring_ me," Jonathan growled.

Eve winced.

"I haven't been ignoring you, Jonathan," she softly lied.

He saw through her falsehood immediately. He looked livid. "Yes, that's right," he snapped. "I'm sorry. I forgot that it was perfectly _normal_ for you to not talk to me for_ four days straight!_"

Eve dropped her gaze to the floor, guiltily. She hated making Jonathan angry; Jonathan was impossible to handle when he was angry.

"I haven't _seen_ _you_ in four days," she whispered. It was a pathetic excuse, she knew, but it was the only one that she had.

"That's because you've been _ignoring_ me," he hissed, getting his volume under control. "Do you think this is _funny, _Eve? Do you think this is a _game_?"

Icy silence cut through the space between them.

Eve had never felt so cold.

"No, Jonathan. I… don't think this is funny at all."

She shivered.

Jonathan seemed unrelenting.

"Then why haven't you _spoken_ to me?" he insisted again.

Eve's hands balled into fists. "Because I knew you would be like _this_!" she answered suddenly, without thinking. "Honestly, Jonathan! You're either kissing me, or screaming at me for not talking to you! Why would I _**want**_ to talk to you, when you act like _this_ all of the time?"

Eve recoiled as soon as she had said it, her sapphire eyes wide with shock. Had she really said that to Jonathan?

For a moment, pure rage flashed across his features, but then he seized it under control. He sniffed at her, arrogantly. "Oh, and you are _so_ easy to read," he mocked, his voice dripping vicious sarcasm. "You couldn't keep your hands off of me while I was kissing you. Then, all of a sudden, you pulled away from me, got up, and left. Why? Because you apparently had an epiphany and realized that you 'didn't like me that way.' What the hell does that even _mean_? And you didn't have the common sense to realize that _before_ you were basically ripping my clothes off? What is _wrong_ with you?"

Eve said nothing.

There was nothing she could say.

Her eyes remained plastered to the marble ground, avoiding Jonathan's glare at all costs. She gnawed on her lower lip distractedly – wishing she could disappear into the floor, or be anywhere but there – but Jonathan was implacable. He stayed exactly where he was.

She glanced upward and noticed that his chest was rising and falling rapidly: like he had been running, even though he hadn't been. Was he more upset than he was letting on? … She certainly hoped so. If Jonathan was upset, it was because he had cared about her at one point or another, and she had let him down: It meant that he was capable of caring for her at all.

"Stop that," he snapped, to Eve's surprise. "Stop doing that."

That hadn't been what she'd expected him to say. Eve looked into his face with a confused expression. He sounded grumpy, but at least he didn't appear angry anymore.

"What do you mean?" she asked timidly.

Jonathan set his jaw. Eve caught herself tracing the lines of his beautiful, sculpted mouth with her eyes. She tried to look away from them, but found that she couldn't.

"I _mean_, stop biting your lip like that," he said irritably.

Eve blinked up at him. "Why?" she asked in total confusion.

"Because –"

His voice trailed off and he looked away from her abruptly, leaving Eve to wonder exactly what he had been trying to say. It didn't really matter, Eve supposed; she decided not to question him, considering his mood finally seemed to be getting a little bit better.

Within ten more seconds of heavy silence though, she caught herself chewing on her bottom lip again. She saw Jonathan's expression change as she did it, and instantly stopped. His black eyes had darkened – as if he was about to explode with rage…

"I – I'm sorry," Eve amended quickly. She offered Jonathan a little, apologetic smile. "It – it's just a habit –"

There was a flash of movement, and Eve felt her shoulders suddenly hit something hard, something painful, something cold: the stone wall. She tried to suck in a breath. Her mind was clicking away already, automatically, trying to find the best way to counter his blow. Was Jonathan really going to attack her while she was off-guard and unarmed – just because she had been biting her own lip?

Attacking her, however, didn't seem to be on Jonathan's agenda.

His body pressed against hers flatly, his hands circling around her wrists like manacles, pinning her to the wall. His face was hovering unbearably close to hers, then: so close that Eve could see her eyes reflected in the black circles of his irises… so close that she could taste the sweetness of his breath on her tongue… so close that his nose brushed against her nose whenever he moved. It made Eve tremble – with something totally different than fear as her eyes drank in the sight of his nearness. A familiar sort of hunger blossomed in her chest as his body pressed against hers. _Oh_ _no_, Eve thought in horror. This was really, REALLY, bad.

She felt like she might faint.

"I told you not to bite your lip," Jonathan said in a low, intimate voice. His breathing was ragged, his chest hitching unevenly… "Because it makes me want to do this –"

Eve had a vague idea of what 'this' was and was dreading it, but Jonathan leaned his face in before she could protest, closing the last of the tiny separation between them, and hotly pressed his lips to her mouth.

Eve's head reeled.

Like the last time, her mind started screaming at her to get away from him. Her instincts told her that he was really, REALLY, bad news… that he was her enemy… that she shouldn't be anywhere near him… but like last time as well, the feeling of his body crushed against her body melted away her doubts.

Jonathan's hand slowly moved to cup the back of her neck, his mouth softened on hers, and helplessly Eve lost resistance. She parted her lips for him. She dragged him closer and kissed him back with wild desperation. Her hands ran over him hungrily – as if for dear life.

A pang of self-hatred weightened her chest like a boulder: She had not wanted Jonathan, Eve reminded herself stubbornly – she had been so _sure_ that she hadn't wanted Jonathan – and yet, somehow, she had.

She was drowning in him now – drowning in this hot, bitter, intense feeling – and yet, he was also her oxygen – her release…

Eve wanted this breath. She wanted this release. More than she had ever wanted anything in her life.

Which was exactly why she wouldn't let herself have it.

Eve tried to tear her lips free of Jonathan's embrace, to object, but his mouth followed hers unceasingly, smothering her unspoken words with sweet kisses. She almost stopped trying to resist him, but in the end, she tipped her head backwards and to the side, where his lips couldn't reach hers, and weakly choked out her protest.

"Jonathan," she said. Her mouth was totally dry; it made her attempt to stop him sound raspy and feeble. She cleared her throat. "Jonathan, _don't_."

He hadn't seemed to hear her, or he was just ignoring her. Either way, he didn't appear inclined in the least to listen to what she was saying. His velvet lips ran over the line of her jaw smoothly, and then they glided lower, exploring the tender skin of her neck. Eve shuddered – both in agony and in pleasure. Her protest trailed off into silence.

She wished that she could tear herself in two, so that her mind and her body were two separate entities. Her head was pleading with her to stop touching him, to stop kissing him. But her body was begging him for more, more, more… Her body told her that no amount of Jonathan Morgenstern would ever be enough…

Eve had no idea how long she could bear this mental torment before she went insane. Surely this kind of double-sided feeling wasn't natural.

Jonathan's hands slid down to her hips, leaving Eve's hands free. Her mind told her to push him away, but her body had different ideas. Her arms eagerly wrapped around his neck, knotting her fingers enthusiastically in his tumbled hair, forcing his face and his lips to her neck. She had never noticed until then how soft or fine Jonathan's hair was. It was like touching raw silk…

_No, _her mind screeched. She didn't _want_ him like this!

With all the will-power that she had, Eve managed to untangle her fingers from his hair, put her hands on his shoulders, and thrust him an arm's length away from her. Her arms were exhausted with the effort after, which was surprising. She was abnormally strong, even for a Shadowhunter, but Jonathan was stronger still. He was resisting her, making her attempt to push him away more difficult than it needed to be. The muscles in his shoulders and chest and arms were wound up like tense springs, like coils of steel rope. Eve had the momentary desire to slide her hands over those muscles, to sneak her hands under his t-shirt and investigate the soft, undiscovered, scarred skin that ran over the tone of his muscles. She silently counted to ten and took a deep breath, but the desire refused to disappear. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs.

"Jonathan," she said forcefully. "I told you to stop."

She looked somberly into his face.

Jonathan had always had the most engaging features, with his high cheekbones and dark, deep-set eyes, with his perfect straight nose and his exquisite, sculpted mouth, with his impossibly pale skin and hair. Those dark eyes were sparking hot, black lightening now, as he leaned in to try and kiss her again. Eve had to force him away, savagely.

"Jonathan!" she snapped in panic. "By the Angel! Are you even listening to me? I told you to _stop_!"

He flashed a crooked grin. She wanted to slap him. "Well, my answer is no," he said.

Eve blinked at him. "You – You can't say _no_!" she stuttered. "Why would you even _say_ that?"

"Why are you asking me to stop?" he countered.

The question caught Eve off-guard. "Because – because…"

Her voice trailed off. Jonathan looked victorious.

"I don't need to answer you, Jonathan," Eve told him finally. "I said no."

She shoved him away and bent to pick up her book, ignoring the fury that ran across his features. Without another word she marched off to the library, inspecting her book on the way for damage. Jonathan paced her like a prowling lion.

For some reason, Eve felt the ends of her nerves pricking electrically, and she realized after a moment that it was because she was feeling fear. Fear of Jonathan.

"I think you do," he growled, his figure touching the edge of her vision.

Eve didn't look at him; she was too nervous to look at him. "What do you mean, Jonathan?"

"I _mean_ that I think that you need to _answer_ me!" he roared. "I think I deserve an _answer_ from you!"

Eve saw the library door come into view, about thirty paces away, and stopped walking. She turned to him with a miserable look on her face.

"Jonathan," she whispered. She reached out a hand, wanting to put her palm to his chest, wanting to pull close to him and let Jonathan wrap her up in his arms again. She drew her hand back after a moment, knowing that it was useless to even think about such a thing. "You… want to know if I want you, and… the answer is yes… I do… I… I've never wanted anything more in my life…"

Jonathan frowned. "But?" he demanded sharply.

Eve stared at her bare toes. "But… I … I don't know why I tell you to stop… I just… always end up regretting kissing you more than the kiss is worth…" Eve stopped talking suddenly and shook her head. "No, don't listen to that, Jonathan… I … I said that wrongly… I just… I don't think I'm ready for romance, right now, Jonathan. I don't know what's wrong with me… I think… I need time…"

Jonathan took a step away from her then – his face a mask of rage and disgust – and laughed. It was a sound like the sharp edge of a razorblade.

"You need _time_?" he scorned, turning away from her. He ran his hands through his pale hair as he paced in a perfect, restless circle. Coldness froze the pit of Eve's chest. Jonathan had never looked at her the way he was looking at her now. He watched her with icy unfamiliarity – as if she was a stranger that he felt nothing for at all. "Fine, then! Take all the goddamned time you need!" snapped Jonathan suddenly, striding towards her. "Wait until we're both _dead_ for all I care! But don't you _dare_ think for one _second_ that I'm going wait for _you!"_ He leaned his face closer to hers, and for one startling moment, Eve thought he might have intended to kiss her, but his face stopped in front of hers. He was so close that his breath stirred her hair as he snarled: "Don't even _think_ about it!"

Eve watched him turn on his heels and walk away in horror. It felt like he had smashed her world into tiny little pieces.

"Jonathan!" she cried.

He didn't turn around.

Jonathan stormed down the corridor until he was out of sight, leaving Eve standing totally alone in the vast hallway.

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><p><strong>Well, well... Trouble in paradise?... Hmm... How suspicious... <strong>

**Muahaha, next chapter is going to be a defining moment... I may take awhile to write it, but I promise it will be worth the wait... Remember last chapter when Jada mentioned that she had a little brother?...**

**Until next time,**

**Love, Fishie.**


	12. Chapter 12: Theo: Part One

**Hi Everyone, Fishie here!**

**Heh... So much for this chapter taking a long time... I decided to divide this scene/ story arc/ chapter thing into two or three pieces, so here is the first one! I wanted to just put all the pieces together in a single chapter, but when I got to 2500 words and I only had the intro part of the chapter done, I knew I would have to split it up. Thankfully, it divides up nicely, so it will make for a good three or so chapters... Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Mortal Instruments!**

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><p>Eve returned her book to the library and immediately ran to Jada's chambers.<p>

Technically, she was still wearing her nightclothes – a tiny black nightgown and her crimson silk housecoat – but Eve had lost a reason to care about it. She had lost a reason to care about anything. The corridors seemed to blur into one pale, nondescript pool of grey as she swung into the doorway of her tutor's rooms – and Eve hoped that her unclear vision was from speed and not from tears.

Jada was lounging on a royal blue armchair in the center of her vast sitting room when Eve found her, with her feet propped up idly on a matching, padded ottoman. Her shiny raven hair tumbled thickly over her bronzed shoulders to her tiny waist, and a maid was kneeling industriously at her feet, painting her toe-nails. Jada glanced upward as she heard Eve enter and smiled luxuriously. She was wearing dark, red lipstick, Eve saw, which made her tutor's teeth seem fantastically white as she beamed Eve's way.

"_Buongiorno, bambina_," Jada greeted, looking content. "Can this wait, _uccello_? I just had a very relaxing bubble bath, a lovely diamond-cream facial, and a fabulous manicure." She wiggled her fingers at Eve, showing off her flashy, impeccable nail-job. There was a moment of silence, where she looked and seemed to really _see_ Eve's expression, and her lazy smile faded, replaced instead with a look of concern.

"_Uccello_… Eve," she added. Her tone was slow and worried now. "What is the matter?"

Eve had no idea what she wanted to say. But she certainly didn't want to say it with a maid in the room. The maids were notorious for running their mouths off about _everything_. There was a long pause between teacher and pupil, and their eyes locked across the room for a fraction of a second: Jada seemed to understand the urgency in Eve's stare.

"Mary, could you leave us a moment?" Jada said, waving her hand imperiously at the maid.

The maid shot Jada a martyred look but eagerly did as she was told. Apparently, she had not particularly enjoyed the task of giving Jada a pedicure. The maid offered Eve a polite, almost grateful, curtsy as she exited the room, but Eve couldn't look at the girl. She was too busy trying not to spontaneously break into tears.

As soon as the door closed behind the maid, Jada slipped her small feet gracefully off of the blue ottoman. "Here, Eve," Jada offered. "Sit."

Eve sat.

Jada was wearing her usual, impeccable style of clothing – a tight, fitted pencil skirt and a loose silky blouse. A pair of dark high heels rested beside Jada's bare feet, Eve noticed as she avoided Jada's gaze, and the delicious smell of perfume tickled Eve's nose as the other woman leaned close to her. Her tutor's fingertips were smooth and gentle where they slipped under Eve's chin. It was a nice change to be touched by soft hands, she thought, considering that everyone else in the house had rough calloused fingers: They had all lived a life of the sword: They were all warriors; soft hands came as a low priority.

"Eve," Jada repeated once the door clicked closed. "What is the matter?"

Her eyes couldn't meet Jada's; she knew she would have started crying if she stared into Jada's eyes for too long. And Eve had learned many years ago that a true Nephilim did NOT cry: under _any_ circumstance.

"I…" Eve swallowed. "I talked to Jonathan, today, Jada…"

Jada sighed sympathetically. "Oh, so _that_ is what this is about… _Bambina_ –"

"He – he was angry with me, Jada," Eve continued miserably, cutting her tutor off. "I … I've never seen him that angry before… Jada, I – I think that I've ruined everything…"

"No," Jada breathed. "No, you didn't ruin anything, _uccello_…"

"But I _have_," Eve insisted, glancing up into Jada's lovely brown eyes. Her tutor's eyelashes were so long and dark that they looked fake. "You… didn't see the way he looked at me, Jada. He… he honestly hates me."

With a touch gentler than a mother's, her tutor reached out and tucked a lock of Eve's golden hair behind her ear. Something glittered on Jada's wrist: a diamond bracelet. The tiny diamonds near the clasp had been carefully shaped into stars… Was the bracelet a Morgenstern piece?

No, Eve told herself. That was impossible. Why in the world would Jada have a piece of Morgenstern jewelry?

"I find it hard to believe that he hates you, Eve," Jada said with a soft smile. "Tell me what happened."

Eve took a deep breath in, ready to let the events of the last ten minutes pour out in a verbal flood – but she was interrupted before she could speak a word: The maid from before knocked quickly and flung open the sitting-room door, without waiting for Jada to give her permission to enter. Jada looked peeved.

"What is it?" she snapped, turning sharply to the doorway. Her bronze skin seemed to glitter where the light touched it.

The maid giggled girlishly. Eve wondered what was so funny.

"There is a visitor for you, Miss Jada," she said, blushing and toying with her straight, brown hair. "He is waiting for you in the main foyer."

Jada's expression dissolved into bewilderment. "A male visitor?" she echoed confusedly. "In the foyer?"

The maid nodded gleefully.

Sighing, Jada slipped on her high-heels and rose elegantly to her feet. She didn't seem too concerned about ruining her freshly painted toenails, Eve thought dully.

"Come with me, _bambina_," Jada said, flicking her long raven hair over her shoulder. "We can talk about this on the way back."

Eve trailed behind Jada obediently as she slid out of the room, and they navigated through the marble corridors with ease. Jada's heels were clicking against the stone floor petulantly and she was muttering under her breath the entire way that: 'this had better not be one of those lovesick stable-hands again' and 'if one more staff-member asks for my hand in marriage, I swear by the Angel, I am going to _quit_!' Her comments made Eve smile, despite everything that had happened.

It was hard for her to imagine that Jada _could_ quit – that she was an employee at all: Jada seemed just as much a part of this household as Valentine or Jonathan…

They reached the main foyer faster than Eve had expected. She and Jada were on the second storey of the Manor, at the top of the massive, grand marble staircase, looking down on the ground level: Jada stormed to the steps a few paces before Eve, with her hands resting irritably on her flared hips – then froze instantly.

"_Tesoro_," Jada whispered, suddenly. Her posture softened and she hastily disappeared down the stairs.

For a single moment, Eve thought of the story Jada had told her, the one about her being in love with Argyle Silverspear, and Eve hurried to the top of the stairs in a flash. What she saw as she looked down, however, was nothing at all like what she had expected.

There was a male figure at the bottom of the stairs, yes, but he looked closer to Eve's own age than Jada's. His black pants and shoes were soaked with water – his loose, white dress-shirt made transparent and clingy and heavy with wetness. Eve almost blushed. His beautiful, sun-kissed chest and arms shone through the drenched fabric, his tanned skin peeking out from where the first few buttons of his shirt had come undone. He had the face of an angel, Eve thought, which was totally strange. When she thought of angels, she had always supposed that they looked much like Jonathan; with the pale coloring and striking features that suited angels so well – but nothing about this boy was like Jonathan at all.

No, from his bronzed skin to his tumbled, dripping black hair, this boy shared no similarities with Jonathan – and yet, in spite of all those differences, he was absolutely beautiful: an angel. Just as beautiful as Jonathan was – maybe even more.

It was his eyes, Eve guessed, that compelled her so much. They were a lovely chocolate brown – familiar, but not entirely recognizable – but no, it wasn't their color that drew in her so much. It was the deep, profound sadness in them that called to Eve. Their bottomless melancholy remained, even as Jada ran to him, cupped his handsome face in her hands, and lovingly kissed his cheek. His posture was rigid, almost pained; Eve was certain she saw the boy cringe in agony as Jada touched his face.

"_Theo_," Jada exhaled adoringly – there was love and confusion mingled in her voice. "What are you doing here, _tesoro_?"

The boy –Theo – stiffly detached her hands and dropped them to her sides. He was refusing to make direct eye-contact with Jada, Eve saw as she leaned against the thick balustrade.

There was a small angel statuette on either side of the staircase, capping the banister; the figures were identical to each other, except that one marble winged-man held an embellished cup to his chest, and the other held an impressive-looking sword. Eve's finger traced the strong, masculine nose of one of the angel statues with her fingertip, feeling oddly shy. This boy was someone personal to Jada, and Eve felt slightly guilty by intruding on their moment.

"I came to speak with you, Jada," was the boy's humble reply. He had a lovely Italian accent, making his voice as smooth and rich as caramel syrup. Eve was awed.

"What is the matter?" Jada asked, looking worried. "Is everything – are you alright?"

He finally looked up at Jada. He had pretty long eyelashes, and water droplets beaded on them like diamonds.

"I…" Theo glanced up, saw Eve, and paused. She was aware in that moment that she was still wearing her not-so-modest nightclothes and blushed. His eyes remained miserable as he weakly smiled up at Jada.

"I'm alright," he answered, although Eve could tell that he was lying through his teeth. "I just came to see you, I feel like we haven't seen each other for ages. Are you… busy?" he added, his eyes flicking to Eve.

"No," Jada sighed. "Of course not." She tenderly wrapped her arm around his shoulders, smiling. "Come, you are shivering. Is it really raining so much outside? Why didn't you take the carriage?"

They scaled the steps together, and Eve was startled to see the similarities between the two; she hadn't really noticed them before. Both shared the same flawless honey-gold skin and dark tumbled hair, the same high cheekbones and long eyelashes, the same pretty shape to their eyes and lips. Eve was surprised – by the way the maid had introduced him, it sounded like this boy was a suitor of Jada's: Was he? He was certainly beautiful enough…

Eve stared at her toes as Jada and the boy approached, trying to melt into the scenery. She had hoped to talk to Jada about Jonathan, but her tutor was obviously going to be occupied for the next few hours, visiting with this Theo boy. Disappointment unfurled in Eve's chest – but she fought against it. Jada was kind to her, and she was determined to give Jada the same kindness in return.

To her horror, Jada and Theo had stopped right in front of her, and Eve could feel her tutor's eyes on her tangibly, like a touch. "Theo, this is Eve, who I've told you so much about," Jada said. "Eve, this is my younger brother, Mattheo Buonovento."

Eve blinked.

Ah, that explained it! This was Jada's brother!

She smiled up at him, shyly, and he politely extended his hand to her. Eve put her fingers delicately in his palm, and almost jumped out of her skin as Theo raised her knuckles to his face and tenderly kissed the back of her hand.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Eve," he greeted, his lips whispering against her skin.

Eve stared.

He didn't say her name 'Eve' like the way that everyone else usually did, but pronounced it almost like 'Eva' – slurring her name with his Italian accent. He glanced at her through those thick dark lashes, in a way that made Eve's cheeks turn a slow, deep red. "It – it's a pleasure to meet you, as well, Mattheo," Eve replied.

Jada grinned.

"Come, _fratello_," she said, glancing knowingly at Eve. Jada whispered something well-humoredly in her brother's ear and Eve's face turned an even more furious shade of scarlet. What Jada had said to him sounded a lot like: '_È possibile lasciare la ragazza carina da solo ora, Theo_' – translated roughly into English as a pointed: 'You can leave the pretty girl _alone_ _now_, Theo.'

He smiled witheringly at his sister. "_Grazie a voi, Jada,_" he answered dryly."_Che è molto utile_."

Eve's mind translated his words into English instantly in her head: 'Thank-you, Jada,' Theo had said. 'That's _very_ helpful.'

She tried to suppress her smirk as Theo respectfully inclined his head to her, past her, and disappeared down the marble corridor. He smelt like fresh rain and pine trees. Jada lagged behind, long enough to lean in and whisper "Don't feel bad, _bambina_. The Buonovento family charms are irresistible." into Eve's ear – and then Jada left as well, and she was alone.

With a soft smile, Eve turned and watched the two figures retreating into the shadowy halls of the Manor, the young man a smidge taller than the young woman, feeling strangely content. Suddenly, as if a winter doorway had opened behind her, an icy shudder ran down Eve's spine. It felt like she was being watched. She slowly revolved around, her nerve-ends snapping with electricity, and frowned. Her blue, gold-flecked eyes scanned the empty foyer, looking for the source of her apprehension – but there was nothing. The gleaming marble floor shone up at her like the calm surface of a lake. The room was silent.

After one more suspicious glance around the foyer, Eve turned and retreated hastily to her rooms.

She would never know that after she left, a pale figure emerged from a shadowy corner of the foyer – his strong arms crossed over his chest, his sculpted mouth set into a  
>murderous scowl. And she would never see the way that his black eyes glared her way as she left the room, like two shards of dangerous blackened volcanic ash.<p>

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><p><strong>Here you go: the beginning of some drama! <strong>

**PS: What do you think of Theo? (AKA: Mr. Smexy-Italian-Dreamboat) ****And what is this going to mean for Eve/ Jonathan? **

**Hmm... I guess you are going to have to wait until next time to find out...**

**Love, Fishie.**


	13. Chapter 13: Theo: Part Two

**Hello everyone!**

**Here is part 2! I hope you enjoy it! I had a good time writing it, although it isn't really a 'fun' chapter I suppose... Someone commented earlier on about Jada, (I think it was at the office scene with Valentine) and was trying to understand why Valentine cared about her, at all... and I almost screamed because I wanted to reply and tell them about this chapter so BAD! I had to sit on my hands for ten minutes!**

**Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN MORTAL INSTRUMENTS!**

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><p>Jada closed the sitting-room door behind her and ushered Theo to take a chair. She had always loved her personal rooms more than any other place in the Manor – they were all dark-blue and white, with elegant, antique furniture and crystal chandeliers. They were a place where she could relax, a place where she could breathe, a place where she could think…<p>

She was thinking of Theo then, thinking about his strange appearance at the Manor and wondering why he had even come there at all: Theo rarely left their mansion in the countryside near Alicante – and he NEVER came to Valentine's Manor – certainly not ever without permission…

Jada shuddered.

If Valentine had been there – if he had seen the way Theo had so casually come to the Manor – he would have been livid. Theo, while being one of the chosen few who even knew Valentine's Manor existed, was not a welcome guest there. There were too many secrets here, Valentine thought – too much to loose if the Clave were to find out about it. Theo's knowledge of the Manor was what Valentine called a liability – and Valentine Morgenstern was not the kind of man who dealt well with the unpredictable. If something was a liability, it meant that it was out of his control – and Valentine _**despised**_ being out of control.

Jada reached out and gripped the back of one of the graceful, blue armchairs, a worried crease forming between her eyebrows. Theo hadn't taken the chair she had offered him. Instead, he was restlessly pacing the room, back and forth, running his slender fingers through his raven hair. His shoes weren't muddy in the slightest, but they left blotchy, wet marks on her white rug as he traipsed across it – and Jada frowned anxiously.

She could hear a few maids in another room, chittering like a gaggle of geese. It sounded like they were in the bedchamber, Jada thought, but she wasn't totally sure… She cleared her throat pointedly.

"Out," she ordered. "Everyone out."

After a few long seconds of busy rustling, the maids appeared from the bedchamber, ready to obediently file out of Jada's rooms, but they all stopped despite themselves and did a double take as they caught sight of Theo. Jada could hardly blame them as she herded the girls into the corridor. Her younger brother was a rugged beauty, to be sure. He had inherited their mother's pretty, delicate brown eyes and soft mouth, but had also gotten their father's handsome, masculine facial structure and athletic build. He had let his dark hair grow out quite a bit since the last time she had seen him, Jada noticed as well, and his tumbled hair almost completely covered his forehead now – and was that a bit of _stubble_ dusting his jaw? Jada had not remembered seeing _that_ there…

She dropped her gaze to the floor.

Theo had grown up in a hurry, she realized with a lingering stab of regret. It hurt to know that she hadn't been there to see it.

The servants threw giggling, suspicious glances over their shoulders as they left the room, and Jada almost chuckled out loud. She knew the maids well enough to understand that before she could blink twice, a rumor would be circulating the Manor: 'Did you see that gorgeous young man in Miss Jada's rooms? She asked for them to be left alone together: I'm sure you can imagine what _they're_ doing.' …They were going to get the shock of their lives when they found out that Theo was her _family_, and not some wild, secret lover that had come for an 'all-too-friendly' afternoon visit.

Jada shook her head amusedly as the door clicked closed behind the maids, leaving her and her brother alone, but the humor disappeared as she finally looked up into her brother's face. He was avoiding making eye contact with her, in a way that made her feel sick to the pit of her stomach.

Something, she knew, was terribly wrong.

"_Tesoro_," Jada began measuredly. "What is it? What is wrong?"

Theo didn't look up at her, but at least he had stopped his pacing. Jada counted it as a small victory. "I…" He paused, his hands shaking. "I have no idea how I am going to say this to you, Jada… I have no idea… where to start…"

She gave him a slight, encouraging smile, waiting for him to begin patiently. Inside, she felt like a withering autumn leaf.

"Is… he here?" Theo finally asked.

Jada blinked at him. "Who?"

"Valentine… Is he here?"

There was a pause.

"No." Jada's chest froze, slowly, painfully; it felt like her heart was turning into a frosty puck of ice. "Why would you ask me that?"

Theo met her eyes then.

His misery seemed to pour into her, and panic began to flutter on the edge of Jada's nerves. She tried to hide what she was feeling, she tried to hide her alarm, but her eyes widened in spite of herself, and she had glided halfway across the room to her brother before she really knew what she was doing.

"By the Angel…Theo," she said in a low trembling voice. "Is Valentine… alright? Did something – did something happen to him?"

Theo turned away from her, looking pained. She put her hand gently on his arm, but he shook her off furiously and stormed away to the far window. Jada guessed that nothing severe was wrong with Valentine, then: if something _had _happened to him, Theo would have comforted her about it, not shrugged her away. But her emotional agony didn't fade. She watched her brother move away from her in tormented silence – feeling oddly guilty: like what she had done had been very, inexplicably wrong.

"Theo… Please…" Jada whispered, standing still. "Say something."

She could see her brother's profile, thoughtfully watching the rain streaming down the windowpane. His fingers pressed tensely over his mouth.

"I didn't come because something happened to Valentine Morgenstern," he told her stiffly. Jada cringed: he had spat out Valentine's name like it was a curse. "I came because I was worried that you might care too _much_ about what happens to him…"

Jada blushed angrily. Her guilt had curdled into a defensive sort of pride, but it refused to entirely leave her; her conscience nagged at her incessantly. "And why does it matter to you who I care for, Mattheo? You don't _own_ me."

"It matters because you are my _sister_!" Theo cried suddenly, spinning to face her. "It matters because you are the only family that I have left! I ought to be protecting you and I…" Theo lowered his accusing gaze, then, his voice trailing off into silence. He abruptly turned around and strode back towards the window, with his bronzed arms crossed moodily over his chest. "And I haven't," he finally whispered. "I haven't protected you, Jada. Not well enough."

"I don't need your protection," she snapped under her breath. "Especially not when it comes to the men I care for."

"Do you?" Theo countered dangerously, turning to her once more. "– care for him, that is. Do you honestly care for Valentine Morgenstern?"

Jada paused and took a deep breath.

"Yes, little brother," she answered coolly. "I _care_ for him. Is that what you wanted to know?"

Theo looked betrayed. It hurt Jada severely for some reason – somewhere deep, underneath all of her pent-up rage.

"How could you _care about him_?" her brother shouted heatedly. Pure anguish had blossomed in his voice. "How can you feel concern for him when he doesn't feel _any_ for_ you_?"

"Watch your mouth, Theo," Jada warned at a whisper. "He's the leader of the Circle. You know nothing about him – and you know nothing about me."

"Is that your answer?" Theo replied coldly, shaking his head. "God, Jada. You're _insane_!" He swooped his arm sharply towards the window, his beautiful face a mask of rage. "There Valentine is, out there betraying you, and yet you are here, justifying his unfaithfulness to me – I don't care if he _is_ the Circle's leader: It's sick. I won't stand for it."

"Valentine is not betraying me," hissed Jada adamantly. "I know what he is doing."

"_Everyone_ knows what he is doing. He's looking for the Mortal Cup."

Jada was taken aback. How did her brother know what Valentine's movements were? Jonathan – even Valentine's own son, Jonathan – did not know what his father was planning… Valentine had been in too much of a rush to tell him the news… She had thought she had been the only one to know…

"The entire Circle has been stirring over it for the last few days," Theo explained. "– and Valentine has hardly been secretive about his plans. All of Downworld now knows what he intends to do, and the Clave will catch wind of it soon enough: Valentine has found the location of the Mortal Cup, Jada – it's in New York – and if he has his way, it will fall securely into his hands within the next fortnight."

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, like she had been running a marathon. Why had she been the last to know about this? Her throat felt tighter than a metal vice.

"I am glad," she choked out, feeling the farthest thing from it. "I am glad that Valentine is going to retrieve the Cup; he will be very pleased… But I don't see how that is betrayal, Theo."

"By the Angel: Is every word he's ever breathed to you a _lie_?" She could hear the pleading in her brother's tone, hidden below his frustration. His words stung her like whip lashes. "Why do you think he has been searching for the Cup for so long? Who do you think _took_ the Cup from him in the _first_ _place_?"

Jada's chest froze as a realization began to set in… It felt like winter had come in its full force and was storming directly over her heart…

"It is Jocelyn Morgenstern who has the Cup," Theo snapped, confirming her dread. "_That_ is who Valentine has been looking for, all this time… He still loves her, Jada –"

"That isn't _true_," Jada growled icily, defensively. "Valentine only wants the Cup."

"He wants the Cup, yes," Theo continued insistently. "– but he's always been looking for more than that… You know it too, don't you? His _wife_ has the Mortal Cup: his _wife_, Jada… Perhaps Valentine has been looking for the _Cup_ all these years – but only as a pretense, because he has been searching for her, as well."

"Hold your _tongue_, Mattheo," Jada snarled.

"Valentine is openly talking about their reconciliation, now – about how they will be reunited by the time he obtains the other two Mortal Instruments –"

"I said _hold your __tongue_!"

"He's only wanted his wife all along, Jada – don't you see it? …He'll keep you around until she comes back to him, and then you will be removed from this house and from your position here…"

"_Theo_ –"

"– and you'll just become a memory to him –"

"_No_."

"Then he will have his wife and son: his family, all together again, just like he has always wanted –"

"_No!_" she screamed violently. Jada snarled and threw her armchair over in a moment of pure, blinded rage, and it smashed to the marble ground before her mind even realized what she had done. She thought she might have seen a crack bloom in one of the white, antique arms. "_Valentine_ _would_ _never__ do that to me!_" she cried savagely. "_Never_!"

Theo shrunk away from her in disbelief. She rarely ever raised her voice with him.

Jada started in pain, and noticed that it was because she had balled her hands into fists; so tightly that her fingernails had sliced her palm. The sight of her own blood as she unfurled her fingers was enough to slightly cool her temper. "Valentine… He… he would never…" Her voice trailed off, and Jada frowned stonily, collecting herself.

Her words were lies, she knew. More than anyone else, Jada Buonavento understood exactly what Valentine Morgenstern would and would not do. She had just always chosen to believe that she was, somehow, an exception.

She kicked her toppled-over armchair viciously with one stillettoed foot, but to her fury, the chair only moved a few pitiful inches. She stormed violently to the other end of the room, sunk into a low-backed couch, and buried her face mournfully in her hands.

God… How had she let herself be played for a fool like this?

Theo hesitated for a long moment and then glided hesitantly to her side.

"Jada," he breathed, touching his sister's hand lightly. "Jada, forgive me… I didn't mean to say it like that…"

She flicked his gesture away wordlessly. He didn't try to press her; he moved from her quietly, hovering at her side like a shadow.

There was a silence, then; the longest silence that Jada had ever experienced.

"Why?" she asked her brother coldly. "Why did you come to tell me this _now_, Theo?"

* * *

><p>Eve was steps away from Jada's bedroom door before she stopped dead in her tracks.<p>

She had gone to her rooms quickly after meeting Jada's brother in the foyer, changed into some more appropriate clothes, and had headed back to her tutor's rooms immediately. On the way, Eve had meant to ask one of the maids if Jada was still seeing her visitor, but all of the servant-girls had congregated by the kitchen door at that point and were blathering amongst themselves about 'Jada' and 'secret lovers' and 'wild, untamed passion' and Eve had decided better than to enter in on their conversation.

Her hand had come within an inch of Jada's bedroom door, ready to timidly knock and ask permission to come in, but she had heard some of the conversation coming from within, and had stopped herself.

"Why?" she could hear Jada saying quietly. "Why did you come to tell me this _now_, Theo?"

Eve heard a pause within the room, and knew that if she was ever going to knock, then would have been the time, but she felt oddly hesitant. Her curiosity burned against her chest like a heartbeat. She slid beside the set of double doors like she had been taught, instead of rapping on them, and inclined her head to listen to their voices.

Theo spoke, but only after another long minute of quiet.

"I was in Alicante – almost a week ago. Did you know that?" he began. His tone was low and conversational, and Eve wondered if he was intending to answer his sister's question at all. "I know that you disapprove of me going into the city, but I was far from caring then. I went anyway… Do you remember Alicante, Jada? …It's so beautiful there." Eve could almost hear him smiling then, and had to imagine for herself what the city looked like; she had only ever seen it in illustrations or photos. "I visited the orphanage," he continued. "It hadn't changed much. Then I walked down the main causeway, right by the canal, just like we used to… I stood there for what seemed like an eternity, all alone while the people marched past me… it was the strangest feeling…" Theo paused, waiting for his sister to say something, anything, and kept talking. "Then, I heard someone behind me, calling my name, and I turned around…" He swallowed, nervously. "You can imagine my surprise when I saw Argyle Silverspear breaking through the crowd; he was the last person I had expected to want to talk to me, considering the circumstances…"

Eve frowned in thought.

Argyle Silverspear? That was the man that Jada had been in love with, wasn't it? The man that had loved her as well?

"Stop," Jada whispered painfully. "I don't want to hear about it, Theo… Especially not now." Her voice sounded muffled and quivering. Eve wondered if she had hidden her face in her hands.

"I know you don't," her brother replied quietly. "But you should hear it, anyway."

Jada didn't respond.

Theo took a deep breath.

"He was really very kind to me – but then, he always has been the perfect gentleman, hasn't he?" Theo remarked dully. "Argyle showed me around the rest of the city. He didn't try to pry, and he kept the conversation on safe topics. He told me about himself as we walked: about how he had been in the last number of years, about his career. He told me about how he had continued through his training to be a medic, like he had always planned, and that he never did join the Brotherhood, despite his family's wishes… He was disappointed that you weren't with me, I think… He's worked his way up through the ranks of the Clave, Jada. He is Head Medic, now: a valid member of Council. He seems to be very popular…" Theo sighed, tiredly. "… I was curious so I… I asked him why. Why he had never joined ranks of the Silent Brothers – when it had been his dream for so many years…"

Eve's mind reeled, but she remained quiet.

Jada's old lover… was a member of the _Clave_? But… the Clave was evil, wasn't it? The Clave was corrupt… narrow-minded… thoughtless… That was what Valentine had always taught her anyway… Why would Jada love someone like _that_?

"Then Argyle looked me dead in the eyes," Theo went on. "And he told me that once you love something enough, that love eclipses your former dreams completely… He said that he had lost any desire to become a Silent Brother – because life had given him a glimpse of something better… He said that he had never forgotten what it felt like – what it felt like to be in love with you, Jada… You should know that he hasn't loved anyone since. And… to be honest…" Theo's voice sounded slightly timid, then. "I don't think you have really loved anyone since then either, Jada."

Her tutor didn't say a word.

Eve wondered what she was thinking.

Theo cleared his throat softly. "And then… after… Argyle asked me if… I thought that you might feel the same."

There was a long pause.

"What did you tell him?" Jada asked miserably.

"I told him the truth," Theo sighed. "I told him you were tutoring in the countryside, and that if I had seen you in the past year, I could have given him an honest answer… I told him that you were barely home, and when you were, you seemed totally unhappy. The only lie I really told him was when I said that you had never considered another man since him."

Jada's breath caught.

_What? _Eve mentally exclaimed. _Jada had a __**lover**__! __There__ – In the __**Manor**__!_ _Who _was_ it?_

"I hadn't meant to tell you any of this," Theo concluded. "I knew you would have been upset by it, but… yesterday… when I heard about everything that was going on in the Circle… I was considering coming, at that time, to warn you… but then after _that_ news, another message came – one about Argyle – and I knew I had to come… because… you just had to know." Her brother exhaled raggedly. "Argyle has…He has formally registered to go into the Brotherhood; he registered two days ago, Jada… In three months, he will have his formal initiation ceremony, and then he will be a Silent Brother, and you will loose him forever…" Theo's voice was bleak. "I knew that I couldn't let things continue the way they were… not without you knowing that, because… before he does it, you should know that Argyle still loves you, Jada. Just as much as he did all those years ago…"

"_Why_?" Jada demanded, a little roughly. "Why do you think that I should know that? God, if you're trying to say 'I told you so' just do it and leave… Don't drag the truth out and rub it in my face: I did all of this for you, Theo. I sacrificed my life with Argyle for _you_…"

"No," Theo breathed sympathetically. "I mean… yes… That isn't what I was trying to say, at all… I know what you've done for me, Jada… That _is_ why I'm saying this –" There was a soft rustling noise, as if Theo had sat down somewhere. "What I'm _trying_ to say is that you _did_ sacrifice for me when I was a little boy, and I am grateful to you for that, but… you _had_ to sacrifice for me then because I was just a _child_. I could not have helped myself." Theo paused, breathing heavily. "What I am trying to say, Jada, is that I'm not eight years old anymore, and that I don't need you to protect me; I'm old enough to take care of myself… And you… you are free now. I wanted to come to tell you that you deserve to do something for yourself, now… and to tell you…that I think that maybe… Argyle Silverspear is that 'something' that you need… You don't need to stay here any longer… You can leave this place…"

Jada didn't speak a word for what seemed like hours.

"Get out," Jada said finally, her voice hopelessly distant. "Get out, Theo… Please… Just… go."

Silence penetrated the room, and, suddenly, there was a gentle noise, and then footsteps quickly approached the door. Eve panicked, but she knew she didn't have time to retreat before Theo came out of the doorway. She froze as the door swung open, wedged between the back of the door and the stone wall – somehow, miraculously, hidden. Theo flew past her, disappeared down the corridor, and Eve doubted that he would have seen her even if she _had _been in plain sight. He seemed beyond noticing anything as Eve lost sight of him down the hallway.

Sympathy thawed in Eve's chest.

She fought against the urge to call after Theo, to assure him that everything was going to be alright, but she knew that she couldn't say a word. After all, if Jada ever found out that she had listened in on her conversation, she would have skinned Eve alive.

Poor Theo, Eve thought, silently. Poor, poor Theo… he was only trying to be a good brother… And poor Jada, trying to protect him for all these years, at her own expense… They were so good to each other… so selfless…

Slowly, Eve edged the door closed and slid noiselessly from her tutor's rooms, following Theo to where he had melted into the labyrinth of Manor passageways.

* * *

><p><strong>What do you think? <strong>

**I felt pretty tense when I wrote this, because I felt it might be a little dramatic and a little too much Jada/Valentine for some readers, but it was part of what I had originally wanted to include in the story, so I thought I should stay true to the original idea... I FELT SO BAD FOR THEO! ...AND JADA!... **

**PS: Jonathan/Eve is coming next chapter... Don't worry...**

***Sigh* So. Much. Drama... I get too much into this story for my own good, I think... :)**

**Love, Fishie**


	14. Chapter 14: Theo: Part Three

**Hi everyone!**

**Whew... This was an emotionally draining chapter to write... I think I cried at the end... Call me sentimental... **

**Here is the third and final part of the Theo scene... I really enjoy writing him and it was awesome, as well, to write a physical description of Eve from an outsider's point-of-view...**

**Anyway, enjoy the drama!**

**Diclaimer: I don't own Mortal Instruments! **

* * *

><p>Theo descended the massive stone staircase two steps at a time, his brown eyes focused unwaveringly on the front door. He had cringed away from the top of the banister when he saw the marble angel statuette – the one that held the Mortal Cup. It had made him think momentarily of his sister, Jada, of the look on her face when she had sworn to him that Valentine Morgenstern would never betray her, and the thought had made his stomach turn.<p>

He shrugged his damp clothes closer around his body and shivered. Being in this place – this monster's den – for even a few minutes was nauseating. How could anyone _live_ in this cold, unwelcoming place for any length of time without going totally insane?

He reached the bottom of the staircase in a flash, meaning to storm across the foyer to the door, but to Theo's dismay, his wet shoes slipped once he reached the gleaming marble floor, and his hand shot out instinctively, to grip the thick, chiseled banister. He waited a quick, teetering moment against the staircase to steady himself, then took a deep breath. Theo guessed that it would have been less than noble considering the circumstances to skid across the foyer and directly faceplant into Valentine's pristinely polished front door: it hardly would have shown his sister that he was a mature young man, a man whose opinions were developed and sophisticated. A man whose opinions should be _valued._

Another deep breath later, he flicked his black hair away from his face and stood tall. Pain throbbed against his heart like ocean waves.

He had wished that Jada would have come with him, left this place, returned to Argyle, had taken the happiness she deserved… but he had not totally expected her to: not right away. His sister was a stubborn woman: a trait which usually worked to _protect_ her from emotional harm. But this time, Theo confessed, she was being stubborn in all the wrong ways – and it was going to hurt her far more than she knew…

God, if he was only brave enough, he would have gladly plunged a dagger through Valentine's heart for what he was doing to Jada… But Theo wasn't a fool. He knew who would come out victorious if he dared to challenge Valentine Morgenstern to a fight… He knew it would mean his death…

Defeated, Theo turned towards the majestic set of double doors, moving to leave, until a voice stopped him.

"Theo?" someone called. "Theo?"

The voice was lovely, soft, feminine – familiar, but not his sister's. He revolved to face the staircase once more, and stared.

A beautiful figure came and descended down the staircase like an angel – and Theo recognized the rippling golden curls and the pale ivory skin immediately. It was the girl that Jada had introduced him to before, the girl in the foyer.

Eve.

She was delicate, he thought – both in body and features – in a way that was unlike any other woman he had met. She was average height, perhaps, but elegant and slender. Every flowing step that she took towards him had the grace of a ballet. "Theo?" she continued, crossing the immaculate foyer. "Are you leaving already?"

She truly was a beauty, he decided as Eve neared. She had the face of a porcelain doll, with those high cheekbones, those round blue eyes, that soft nose, that pretty mouth. Her eyes were flecked with the same gold as her hair, he saw once she came close – like sapphires studded with precious metal – framed by long, silvery eyelashes. She was wearing a simple, knee-length dress that matched the dark color in her irises perfectly, and it wrapped around the gentle curves of her body like a stream of rippling water.

"I thought it was appropriate time to go," Theo answered politely.

A gentle smile curled her lips, but her eyes seemed helplessly sad. "Did… you have a pleasant visit with your sister?" Eve asked.

Theo glanced away from her, his throat tight. "Unfortunately," he replied slowly. "Not as pleasant as I had expected."

She didn't press him for an explanation, which Theo was grateful for. Sympathy seeped into the expression in her eyes, and Theo wondered how much of the story she knew. A moment of silence stretched out between them until Eve spoke. "I am very sorry to hear that," she told him in a low, kind voice. "Do you think… you will be able to reconcile with her before you leave?"

"No." Theo swallowed his anxiety. "I doubt it," he said.

Eve nodded – and the silence that followed seemed to stretch out for an eternity. Theo glanced down into Eve's lowered eyes, and then her gaze flicked up to meet his. Meekly, Eve smiled at him: and the gesture was as warm and sweet as a summer afternoon.

"I hope… you don't intend to leave here angry," she offered shyly, averting her gaze. "I'm sure… that Jada would not want you to leave here angry… She seems to love you very much, Theo."

He smiled despite himself. Somehow, that docile look on Eve's pretty face, her serenity, was contagious.

He sighed deeply.

"Yes…" he replied. "Yes, I suppose you are right…" Without thinking too much about it, Theo offered his arm to Eve and glanced toward the grand doorway. "Perhaps some fresh air will do me some good… Walk with me?" he asked openly.

There was a moment where Eve seemed totally surprised by the offer. She moved away from him tightly, as if to say no, but then she took a second's pause and accepted his gesture with perfect grace. Eve let him lead her outside without a protest, despite the chill that fluttered in the outside air.

The weather had dramatically improved since the last time he had been outside. Dark clouds laced the brightening Idrisian sky, but at least it wasn't pouring rain like it had been ten minutes before. Theo remembered the ride to the Manor with ominous dread, when there had been nothing between him and the elements but his thin clothing. Each drop of rain had felt like a sharpened knife blade on his skin…

They walked in comfortable silence – he and Eve – around the perimeter of the sprawling Manor, until they reached the back of the building. Vast, meticulously trimmed gardens spread along a number of stone pathways, although the gardens weren't much to see at that time. Early spring was on the horizon, but the twilight of winter hadn't entirely dispelled yet. Other than the pine-green shrubs framing the paths, a scarce amount of color had bloomed in the gardens.

He led her to a pale stone bench, framed by dark ivy, and then realized belatedly that it was useless. Rainwater had puddled on the seat; and he could hardly expect Eve to sit down with him there like he had planned. Absently, Eve reached out a hand and fingered an ivy leaf at the side of the bench, curiosity running across her features like a breeze. His eyes traced the profile of her face in awe, as if she was an elaborate, well-crafted painting. There was no word it seemed – in Italian or English – that could quite sum up the magnetic beauty of this one girl. Her eyes danced with intrigue like candle flames.

"The grounds aren't usually this plain," she told him with a gentle smile. "In the summer, this place comes alive with color. The gardens really are magnificent… But I suppose," she added timidly. "… you wouldn't really believe that, seeing it the way it is now…"

For some reason, Theo felt inclined to believe _anything_ this young woman said to him: if she told him that elephants were purple and the size of a small housecat, he probably would not have tried to doubt her logic.

"No," he answered sincerely, glancing about the scene. "I can imagine it becomes very beautiful here in the right season."

In truth, he had always had an interest in the gardens at home – so any garden to him had good aesthetic value. Plants, he found, were blessedly simple organisms; if you treated them well, they were healthy and beautiful and strong. If you didn't treat them well, they shriveled up and died. Simple.

If only humans were so logical.

"Eve, forgive me for asking," Theo began, keeping conversation flowing. "But …are you a _guest_ here?"

Something sparked in her eyes for a second, and then she nodded. "Yes," she replied. "My father is a very good friend of Valentine Morgenstern's. He has been very gracious in letting me stay here…"

"And do… you _enjoy_ being here?"

Eve's face lit up. "Oh, yes! Of course! … It is wonderful here…" She seemed to catch herself then, and the light in her face faded away, replaced with a look of guilt. "Forgive me," she slowly said then. "You… don't like it here, do you? I could tell – you ...seemed to be in such a hurry to leave… I'm sorry…"

Theo was baffled. Why should someone have to apologize for stating their _opinion_? It was truly a strange concept…

Gently, he slid his arm out of Eve's and took her hand. She froze in surprise and turned her face away from him – and Theo was very pleased to note that she was mildly blushing. "Eve…" he began measuredly. "May I ask you something, then, since you seem to be here often? Something about my sister?"

She nodded, staring diligently at her toes.

Theo smiled, watching Eve as she began to chew on her bottom lip. He had to admit that it was an adorable little gesture – especially coming from a woman with such delicate, doll-like features. His eyes lingered on the curve of her eyelashes, on the glinting edges of her thick blond curls…

He paused for a moment, took a breath to speak – and then stopped himself.

He had meant to ask Eve if Jada was honestly happy here with Valentine, but decided last minute that it was a foolish thing to say. What if Eve did not know about Jada's relationship at all? No one else in the Circle seemed to know… or if they did, they were smart enough to not run their mouths off about it. Surely it would ruin his sister's reputation if the news ever got out… and this Eve girl seemed so innocent…

"How much did you hear?" Theo asked instead. "When my sister and I were talking in her rooms, how much of the conversation between us did you hear?"

Eve's pretty mouth tightened. "A bit," she confessed. "I came while you were giving the story about Argyle Silverspear… that was all…"

Theo almost sighed, grateful that he hadn't asked about Valentine. If what Eve said was true, she had no idea that Valentine had been part of the conversation at all.

"So you heard that Argyle is about to go into the Brotherhood?" he continued dully.

Eve squeezed Theo's hand affectionately. It was the first time since their meeting that she had returned one of his advances. "Yes…" she replied stiffly. "I am sorry to hear it. For Jada's sake…"

He took her other hand in his own and stared into her downcast face. Uncertainty hovered at the end of Eve's voice. "But?" Theo added.

After a long moment of chewing on her lip, Eve glanced up into his face. "But… I thought you said… something about Jada having another lover _here_?"

Theo cringed internally at his own stupidity. "My sister had alluded to the fact, yes… I have no idea who the man is, though."

Eve nodded, looking honestly confused. He prayed to God that she never guessed Valentine to be that person.

"I think… that you were wrong about Jada," she finally told him.

Theo wasn't offended, but it piqued his curiosity. "What do you mean?"

"I think…" Eve shook her head, sending her golden hair flying. "Maybe you were wrong to say she wasn't going to be happy here, without Argyle… I mean… I really don't know much about the story… and it really isn't any of my business, but… I think Jada is loved here. Even if… if it isn't strictly by a man…" Eve stared directly into his eyes. "I think she has plenty of people here who care about her… People who wouldn't want to loose her…"

Heartache shone in Eve's eyes, and Theo guessed exactly who else 'didn't want to loose Jada' there in the Manor. The thought made him want to pull Eve into his arms.

"It isn't only Jada's need for love that I am concerned about," he told her gently, cradling her hands. "When Jada walked away from Argyle, he was devastated… He was as good as a brother to me, and when they separated, I had to watch both of my only two family members waste away, when all they needed to do was reconcile with each other – just to take each other back – and then they would have been _happy_…"

Eve was silent for a very long time then, but she didn't attempt to pull away from him. Her body was still, thoughtful… A cold breeze tossed the gardens then, and she shivered. He wished he had a jacket to offer her.

"You are right," Eve stated finally. "I think… you are right… about Jada and Argyle…" She aimed a smile at him that could have melted stone, but he could see the sacrifice in her gaze. "I will try my best to reason with her… She is upset now, I think… But I'm sure I can convince her to see things your way, in time… I agree that Jada deserves the best in life… and if Argyle is what is best for her…" Her voice trailed off.

Theo smiled and raised both of her small hands to his lips. He kissed her knuckles fondly, the slender bones of her fingers… "Thank you," he told her somberly. "I don't know how I will ever repay you for this…"

Eve laughed a little nervously. Theo half-expected the garden to explode into bloom at the bell-like sound of her joy. The very choirs of heaven could not have sounded so lovely.

"Don't repay me," Eve replied tenderly. "Just make Jada happy; that is all I ask."

She took his arm once more and they strolled together silently to the main entrance of the Manor: Theo's horse was waiting for him there – a sleek, towering brute of a stallion – flicking its shadowy mane impatiently. The stable-hand leading the horse looked slightly anxious at the sight of the animal, which made Theo smile.

The stable-hand had every reason to fear his horse, Argo. The beast was as unpredictable and vicious as the wind.

In a quick, polite gesture, Theo decided to completely lead Eve to the entrance of the Manor before departing, gaining a petulant snort from his stallion. He opened one of the doors for her courteously and smoothly slipped her arm out of his, lingering in the opening. She smiled up at him kindly.

"Thank-you, Theo, for your company," she said. "It was a pleasure to meet you."

Theo's eyes drank in the sight of her face one last time. "Yes," he replied slowly, dragging out the moment. Before his common sense could scream in protest, Theo leaned in close to Eve, and planted a lingering, affectionate kiss on her flawless, porcelain cheek. Her skin smelt like spring. "It was a pleasure meeting you as well, Eve…" he returned, drawing back.

Without another word, Theo spun on his heels and went to his horse, leaving Eve to stare after him in wondered bewilderment, her fingertips pressed bemusedly against her blushing cheek.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until a few hours later – long after Theo had disappeared into the horizon – that Eve finally turned and went inside the Manor. She had spent the hours outside, wandering the gardens, lost in thought, trying to plan out how she was going to keep her promise to Theo. The violent blush in her cheeks hadn't totally subsided yet, and the feel of Theo's lips still whispered against her skin like a memory…<p>

She closed the Manor's heavy, gilded-wood door behind her and smiled.

Theo had been very kind to her – and so sympathetic; it felt like she had known him for ages even though they had only just met… And he had cared so much about his sister… Eve only hoped that she could convince Jada to return to this Argyle character… After all, Jada was _impossibly_ stubborn…

The door latched closed – and then Eve froze.

Something panicked and instinctual ran up her spine like lightening – and she recognized it instantly to be the realization of danger. She revolved around slowly, glancing toward the pale, gleaming foyer. It felt like her nerve ends were on fire.

Eve scanned the room noiselessly, and then paled as she saw a familiar figure lounging against the banister at the top of the staircase, right next to the angel statuette with the Cup; a figure that looked volatile in spite of their casual pose. A figure whose black eyes were glowering venomously her way.

Jonathan.

His lips twisted into a cruel, hateful grimace as he caught sight of her, and Eve had never felt so afraid – so purely afraid – of Jonathan. She could see, even from the distance, that his muscles were wound furiously tight, and a that volatile spark was flickering in his eyes.

She automatically wished that she had a weapon in her hand – the violent way that Jonathan was staring at her was making her on edge – and then she stopped herself in surprise. Sadness clutched at her chest.

It was tormenting to think that she had to doubt Jonathan at all… Jonathan who she _should_ have been able to trust… Jonathan who she loved above anyone else… To have to worry that he may hurt her, or be a danger to her, was totally heart-wrenching.

Tears sprung to her eyes, but Eve refused to let herself cry, especially not in front of him: She stared at an ornate detail in the banister until the wetness in her eyes faded, but the emotional agony that she felt did not subside.

Jonathan crossed his strong arms across his chest and scowled.

"Who the hell was _that_?" he hissed dangerously. His voice was resonant and strong despite the vast distance between them; it was something he had inherited from his father. "That boy - who _was_ he?"

Eve's breathing suddenly became shallow and erratic. "I don't know what you mean, Jonathan," she told him evenly.

Jonathan's mouth twitched venomously.

"Don't _lie_ to me!" Jonathan snarled. "Don't you _dare_ lie to me: You know _exactly_ what I mean!"

Eve swallowed – quickly thinking of an alibi. The last thing she wanted was Jonathan to go after Theo in a rage… "It was one of the stable-hands, Jonathan," she explained calmly, soothingly. It must have been the first bold-faced lie she had ever told him. "Hardly anything to get excited about…"

Jonathan snapped.

"Liar!" he screamed. "_Liar!_"

Like a savage animal, Jonathan roared and whipped his arm out, his muscles rippling with his blinding speed. His hand cracked fiercely into contact with the head of the angel statue, and the lovely marble figure shattered at his blow. Eve stumbled backwards at the sight – filled with terror.

She had not thought it was possible for marble to shatter.

White shards of stone flung her way, propelled by the force of Jonathan's rage, and Eve was horrified to see a tiny, mutilated piece of the imitation Mortal Cup tumble to the base of the stairs. Valentine was going to beat Jonathan to bloody tatters when he saw _that_, she thought… Valentine seemed to be really fond of those figures…

Suddenly, Jonathan stormed down the stairs toward her, his posture deadly. Panic swept through Eve's veins like adrenaline, and her eyes flashed wide as she backed away from him. She didn't realize just how far she had travelled until her back was glued to the front door. Jonathan stalked ever nearer to her, his hands squeezed into pale fists.

"You deceptive little _bitch_," he was growling. "Do you think I'm an _idiot_? Did you really think I would believe that boy was one of the _stable-hands?"_

Eve set her jaw, to keep her lips from trembling.

"Of course not, Jonathan," she replied compliantly, her voice unsteady.

He was directly in front of her, then. She could see herself reflected in the blackness of his irises, and she could smell the lovely sweetness of his breath – but more then anything, she could see the blatant hatred that had turned his face to stone. It seemed to take over the beauty that Eve had found in his features before. All she saw now was an enemy.

He leered at her. "'_I don't think I'm ready for romance, right now, Jonathan_,'" he mocked in a spiteful, whiny voice, echoing her words from before. Eve's face drained of color. "'_I think I need time…_'"

Jonathan snorted inelegantly, his face a mask of disgust.

"Funny," he continued callously, not sounding humored, at all. "You didn't seem to 'need time' where _Theo_ was concerned." His voice bit icily when he said Theo's name – thrilling the word with all the cruel sarcasm that he could muster.

Eve clenched her teeth.

"I don't see why you care so much about it," she countered stiffly. "– even if I _did_ have feelings for Theo. You don't love me, Jonathan... Most of the time, you don't even _like_ me."

His eyes darkened menacingly and his mouth twisted into a hard shape. Jonathan's fury was unleashed.

"_It doesn't _matter_ if I love you or not!_" he roared explosively. "_You __belong__ to me!_"

Eve flinched away from him, startled by his sudden outburst, and Jonathan seemed all the more infuriated because of it. His hand shot out and gripped her wrist, clasping it painfully, and jerked her to him. Her face was less than a breath away from his, then – so close that the tip of his pale nose brushed against hers – and in any other circumstance, his nearness probably would have made her blush.

She didn't feel like blushing then. She felt completely terrified.

"_You were _born_ to be with me_!" he raged on. "_My father is __raising__ you so you can be with __me! _Me_! It doesn't matter what you think or feel – you're __mine__! You don't have a choice to be with anyone else! You're a puppet – __MY__ puppet – and I'll do with you whatever I damn well __want__ to!_"

Eve's nostrils flared and her chest hitched unevenly – as she tried not to think about what Jonathan had meant by his last few words. She stared into his face with a fresh wave of fear, trying to find some familiarity in the face in front of her, but failing. Her gaze froze as she looked into his eyes.

Eve had memorized those eyes perfectly over the years. They had always been black in color, with pupils a bit darker than his irises – like deeper shadows floating against lighter shadows.

His eyes were a single, flat shade of black, now. His pupils had consumed his irises – turning his eyes into a pair of cold, lifeless black chips.

Eve trembled with fear.

This creature was not the Jonathan she knew.

"Jonathan," she told him shakily, cringing at the pain in her throbbing wrist. "Jonathan, you're hurting me. Let go."

Jonathan's face twisted then.

"I don't care," he said coldly, and then Jonathan wrenched at his grip on her wrist.

Eve heard the gruesome snap.

And then she felt the jarring agony shoot up her arm.

For one moment, she cried out – and then she clamped her mouth shut, hiding her pain.

Jonathan had done it.

He had honestly hurt her.

He yanked on her snapped wrist, hurling her across the foyer. She stumbled and then regained her balance hastily and backed away from him.

Eve fought the urge to give up as she saw that she had been thrown past the staircase. If she had landed somewhere closer to the stairs, she might have been able to escape Jonathan – to get away – but she was closer to the foyer's opposite wall than to her escape route. She knew she would never be able to outrun him. Not to mention that fleeing Jonathan would probably throw him over the edge.

Her fear and disbelief impaired her vision.

The foyer swirled into a vortex of pale stone as she saw Jonathan coming towards her – And even though she knew it was a senseless thing to do, she backed away from him until she had her back against the wall. Her defenses were gone; her wrist was broken, the rest of her body felt boneless with dread, and now she was in the worst defensive position imaginable – backed against a wall.

Eve couldn't bring herself to care, somehow. The crushing realization that Jonathan had truly caused her harm had eclipsed her fear of further damage.

He knees gave way underneath her. She slid weakly to the ground.

"This isn't you, Jonathan," she whispered desperately. "Jonathan, this _can't_ be _you_…"

She heard a sound, then. A slamming noise, but her vision was too blurred to see what it was or from where it came.

Jonathan didn't seem to notice the sound, at all.

His beautiful lips bent into a contorted scowl as his shadow loomed over her, and Eve's terror piqued again.

"You don't know what I am, Angel-girl," he said in a low, murderous voice. "Not even –"

Suddenly, Jonathan was pulled from her vision. There was a sound like an animal snarl and then a grisly crack that echoed throughout the foyer. The abrupt noise was enough to clear Eve's head. She stared forward and shivered as a cool breeze drifted through the open front doors…

_Open_, she puzzled silently. _Why were the doors __open__?_

Her head turned warily to her side – and then she gasped.

Like an avenging angel, a familiar figure had pinned Jonathan to the marble wall, his strong hand circling ruthlessly around Jonathan's pale throat. He was merciless – forcing Jonathan to the wall with the fullest potential of his strength. She could see it in the rigid tension of his massive body, through the thin fabric of his white, button up shirt, and where the veins in his muscular neck were strained and prominent.

Valentine had returned home.

It was one of those rare, frightening moments where Eve could see that Jonathan's father was not just tall and broad – but also dangerously powerful: a tower of pure muscle. His handsome face was stony with rage – lacking compassion or compunction as he glared wrathfully at his trapped son.

Eve saw the insensitivity in Valentine's gaze, had stopped feeling afraid for herself, and had begun to feel afraid for _Jonathan_…

That horrible flatness in Jonathan's eyes had disappeared, she saw, and his irises had returned to their normal two-tone black color. His expression was dazed as he stared into his father's cold face – almost confused: as if he had just awakened from a nightmare. Jonathan choked a little as he glanced from his father, down to her.

Jonathan's expression changed to guilt as their eyes met. It was the very first look of remorse she had ever seen on Jonathan's face.

And then it changed to a very vulnerable look of fear as his gaze flicked back to his father.

What was wrong with Jonathan, Eve thought sharply. That he could change emotions so quickly… It was like he was possessed –

Oh God, Eve thought in horror.

Possessed.

The demon blood.

Was that the reason that Jonathan had hurt her?

The thought filled Eve with a twisted sort of hope... It was true that sometimes Jonathan had episodes – almost trance-like states where his demonic nature seemed to take him over – and of course, the incidents had become more and more frequent, more and more _violent_, as Jonathan's condition had worsened… But nothing like what had just happened.. Although, it was not really Jonathan's fault that they happened, she supposed; he had not _chosen_ to be infused with demon blood…

She looked solemnly into Jonathan's face, feeling sincere pity for him.

It was not Jonathan who had snapped her wrist, Eve told herself determinedly. It was that monster that ran in his veins… the monster that had been put there before Jonathan was even born… That was who had hurt her.

"Eve," Valentine growled, tightening his grip on Jonathan. "Go."

She hesitated; her mind lingered on the panic in Jonathan's eyes. "But –"

"I said_ go_!" he snapped furiously.

Eve cowered away from Valentine – he rarely ever raised his voice with her. After one last sorrowful look at Jonathan's face, Eve scrambled unwillingly to her feet, cradling her damaged wrist against her chest.

As she hastily scaled the staircase, she threw one last look over her shoulder at the two Morgensterns – just in time to see Valentine grab Jonathan viciously by the shirt-front and shove him through one of the dark, adjacent doorways. Jonathan didn't try to resist his father – he surrendered himself numbly to Valentine – as if he thought he deserved the punishment that was coming to him.

Eve remembered the guilt that had shown in his expression, and wondered if Jonathan unduly blamed himself for what he had done to her…

She ran the rest of the way up the stairs, not stopping until she had swung into her bedroom, and collapsed into her familiar scarlet armchair.

Eve's acute hearing picked up a noise from downstairs – one that sounded a lot like a human howl of pain. She cringed in horror– her eyes filling up with tears.

To distract herself, she glanced down at her wrist.

It was ugly and swollen – but she prodded it expertly, knowing all the ways to check if it was still broken from the medical training that Valentine had given her. After all, she healed inhumanly fast. It was one of the advantages of having Angel-blood in her veins: her wrist might have already gotten better.

She winced as her good hand fingered her throbbing, injured wrist, and she realized quickly that the bones had already healed. At worst, her wrist was severely sprained now… Although the swelling probably wouldn't go down completely until the morning…

She quickly grabbed a narrow hardcover book from her bedside table and bound it to her wrist with the sleeve of her housecoat – creating a makeshift splint for herself.

Another cry sounded from downstairs.

Trembling, Eve hugged her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them, staring dry-eyed into the desolate, unlit fireplace.

'_Of course!_' she had said to Theo. '_… It is wonderful here…_'

Eve buried her face in her knees.

Her heart felt heavier than lead.

* * *

><p><strong>Wow... sorry to leave you on a sad note like that... It gets happier, I promise... :)... I felt like the characters were writing themselves a bit this chapter... I really hadn't planned this chapter to go this way... oh, well...<strong>

**I feel so bad for Jonathan!... *cries in a corner* I love him so much! I finished writing the chapter and read over the second part about Eve/ Jonathan and was heartbroken... (but not totally, because I know what is going to happen in the next few chapters...Perks of being the author...)**

**I will make sure to write quickly and not leave you in this emotional rut! *writes like the wind***

**Love, Fishie. **


	15. Chapter 15: The Beginning

**Hello People!**

**Here it is... sorry this chapter took me so long to write... As you can see, it is pretty long... **

**I went into Valentine's point of view this chapter, as well, which was really emotionally draining for some reason... Usually I write in the perspective of the girls, or in one case Theo, but all of those characters are very easy for me to relate to, I guess. Valentine was a hard personality to get into... **

**Anyway, I started screaming with joy when I got to write this chapter... This chapter introduces the main plot of 'The Morgenstern Girl' that I have always intended for the story, and the rest of the tale basically centers around this up-coming plot twist, so I hope that you enjoy it...**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Mortal Instruments. **

* * *

><p>Jada watched the sun hovering above the Idrisian hillside from her bedroom window, her bronzed arms crossed tightly over her chest. The mahogany grandfather clock beside her rang out three resounding times, indicating the hour. Jada spared it a dull glance, then abruptly turned and headed towards her door: If the clock was right, she thought with a cringe of remorse, it had been over three hours since Theo had left the Manor.<p>

The thought made her chest ache.

She had almost called her brother back once he had run out of her rooms that afternoon, but her pride had made her choke on the words, and she had only been able to stare in silence from her window as Theo mounted his horse and rode away – away from the Manor. And away from _her_.

She had been hoping that her brother would return in the time that followed; to let her explain, to forgive her, even. But he hadn't come back, and the realization had stung more fiercely than a whip lash.

Worst of all for her had been the passing time. It had forced her to think – and all of the ugliness that she had frantically tried to push out of her mind while Theo had talked to her had bubbled quickly to the surface.

Valentine was betraying her, he had said. Leaving her for Jocelyn.

Her chest tightened with rage.

It should not have upset her so much, Jada reminded herself furiously. She had decided from the beginning that her relationship with Valentine Morgenstern would be strictly business. No emotional strings attached. No love… And because of that, no hurt. Yet, for that horrible split second, only hours before, when she had thought that something had happened to him – when she thought that Valentine may have been _hurt_ – Jada had realized that she had only been deceiving herself these past eight years.

Theo had been right.

She _cared_ for Valentine Morgenstern.

The thought was like a kick to her stomach. After all, it was recklessly stupid – and not only recklessly stupid, but _dangerous_ – to care for a man like Valentine. He was poisonous, entirely single-minded. He lived within his own personal world, and for his own personal causes, and she knew all too well that he would not hesitate to sacrifice her for any of those things…

Then _why_…?

Jada ran her fingers through her black hair petulantly.

She was overthinking things, she tried to tell herself.

Who knew where Theo had gotten his information from, anyway? The Circle members were notorious for making assumptions based on gossip. Perhaps they had all found out that Jocelyn was in possession of the Cup and had jumped to conclusions about Valentine's motives. And even if Jocelyn _did_ have the Cup, it did not mean that Valentine _cared_…

Jada sighed.

On the other hand, if the sudden news that Theo had brought was _true_, then Valentine was a back-stabbing liar. He hadn't cared about her in the least. He had just been using her all along – knowing that she was just a temporary replacement for a woman that had left him over a decade ago…

But did it really matter, either way?, Jada asked herself. She should not love Valentine Morgenstern at all – whether he was good to her or not.

Theo had been very clear; he had talked with Argyle. _Argyle_. Jada had forced her mouth shut by sheer willpower when Theo had mentioned his name. So many questions wanted to tumble their way out of her mouth: how was he? How had he changed? Was he still a medic? Did he still love her?

There had been that glorious weightlessness when Theo said Argyle still cared for her, that he had loved no one else since – and then the crushing plummet when Theo said he had finally given up on her. That he was joining the Brotherhood after all.

Her brother might as well have lunged forward and ripped her heart out of her chest.

God, and Theo had made it sound so easy, Jada remembered. Just leave the Manor and go to Argyle, he'd said. Never look back… Heaven only knew how badly she wanted that – what she would _give_ for that.

But Jada knew it was impossible.

Argyle was a high-ranking member of the Clave now, like Theo had said. And Valentine was the infamous leader of the Circle. Did her brother honestly think that Valentine would just let her go – _especially_ to his enemy, considering all of the information that she knew? Did Theo have any idea how much danger she would be putting them all in if she left? Did he honestly think that blood wouldn't be spilt?

Valentine may not love her, but it did not make her any less his: Jada knew that the darkest powers of hell would be unleashed if she _ever_ dared leave him.

With a tough shove, she pushed her bedroom door open – and stared in astonishment to see that someone was already in the other room.

"Good," a smooth, familiar voice said. "You came out… I was beginning to worry."

Jada let out her breath slowly, leaning bonelessly on the doorframe. She could only hope that her expression had not given any of her emotions away.

"Valentine," she sighed. "I didn't –… Were you waiting for me?"

_What a stupid question_, she thought immediately. _He wouldn't be in your personal sitting-room if he __wasn't__ waiting for you._

His pale lips curled into a smirk – as if he had read her mind. He was sitting in one of her elegant armchairs, looking just as sophisticated as the scenery, with his arm outstretched to a small table at his side. He poured two glasses of scotch from a glittering crystal decanter, and then set the sculpted top back on the bottle, looking pleased that he had surprised her. If he really _had_ just returned from New York, Jada noticed critically, then his suit looked suspiciously well-pressed. Like he had just changed into a new set of clothes...

She tried not to think about all the things that could mean as she glided across the room and reclined at the little couch by Valentine's side.

"People are always waiting for something," Valentine mused thoughtfully. He took his filled glass off the table and slid the silver tray her direction. "Although, I _have_ found one _less_ thing to wait for," he added in a low voice, watching as Jada slipped off her high-heels.

_Your wife?_ she wanted to snap.

Jada settled into the couch and took a sip from her glass of scotch. "And what is that?" she asked instead.

"The location of the Mortal Cup."

She paused, tracing the rim of her cup lightly with her fingertip. "So the information from Pangborn was right," she stated. "The Mortal Cup really _is_ in New York."

Valentine shrugged elegantly.

"_Jocelyn_ is in New York," he corrected, to Jada's shock. She had not expected him to admit the fact to her. "I did not see the Cup with her, but I doubt that Jocelyn would entrust it to anyone other than herself." Jada glanced up experimentally into Valentine's face and saw raw ambition gleaming in his eyes – though none of it seemed to be for his wife. "Jocelyn has the Cup," he repeated – mostly to himself. "I am certain that she does."

Jada frowned meditatively into her glass.

Valentine looked the exact same as he always did, Jada noticed as he took another drink of his scotch. The thought came as a bizarre sort of relief. He would have looked different if he had betrayed her, wouldn't he? Wouldn't he act differently, talk differently, gaze at her differently?

If that was the case, then Theo had been very wrong about Valentine's motives for getting the Mortal Cup. Nothing about the Circle's leader had visibly changed.

She peeked his way again, and then quickly averted her brown eyes as she saw him return her stare.

"You're tense," Valentine observed then calmly, tracing her form with his dark eyes. "Why?"

There were a million and one lies that ran through Jada's mind in that moment – the last thing that she wanted was for Valentine to know that her brother had been at the Manor – but she was interrupted before she had the chance to answer him.

There was a sudden, petulant knock at the door, and it opened without asking Jada for permission.

It was the maid – Mary – Jada saw, walking through the doorway backwards. She looked at the servant-girl in a moment of confusion, and then remembered that she had asked Mary to bring her tea about half an hour ago. The maid was probably carrying a tray.

"Mary," Jada began, flicking her gaze to Valentine's waiting expression. "This probably isn't the best time –"

The maid giggled deviously, trying unsuccessfully to nudge the door closed with her foot.

"Why?" Mary playfully challenged. "Are you still trying to clean up after your handsome, young lover, Miss Jada?"

Jada paled, feeling abruptly nauseous.

_Lover_? _What the hell was she talking about? – _

_Oh, god, _Jada realized_. _

Jada remembered well the suspicious glances that the maids had given her and Theo… She had not introduced Theo to the maids as her _brother_, letting them think he was something else… She had thought it had been _amusing_ at the time…

She glanced in horror at Valentine, watching as his pale face gradually turned into cold stone. The muscles in his jaw worked, and his lips set into an icy, merciless line. His black eyes flashed venomously, like fierce, burning coals, blindly glaring at a point on the wall.

"Mary –" Jada snapped hastily, to shut the girl up. "That wasn't –"

"Oh, don't play _dumb_ with me – I _know_ he was your _lover_…" the maid giggled, her back still to them. "Martha could hear you two all the way from the kitchen! … You'd think that you would show some restraint…"

Valentine's eyes snapped to Jada like daggers, boring vicious holes into her face.

Jada's mouth fell open as her gaze met his, but an explanation would not come.

"_Mary_!" she hissed instead. She was sure her face had turned green; she certainly _felt_ like throwing up…

"Oh, don't act so surprised," Mary twittered on. "He was totally gorgeous: he had the accent and everything! It was a good thing that didn't Valentine come till later… he would have _killed_ you if he ever found out about it."

Jada made a choked noise at the back of her throat.

Finally, the maid got the door closed. "And who would have thought you would go for someone so _young_?" the girl remarked.

Valentine's hands balled into rigid fists at that comment.

Jada lost her temper.

"_Mary_!" Jada roared. "_For_ _**God's **__**sake**__ will you __**shut **__**up**__?_"

Mary seemed hurt. "Why?"

The maid turned around – and almost dropped the tea-tray in horror.

With a mortified look in her wide eyes, the maid saw that Valentine sitting there behind her – and that he had probably been sitting there the entire time. Within ten seconds, the maid's face drained to a ghastly shade of white, and then flushed to a deep, fire-engine red as the realization set in. Her jaw sagged open in shock.

Mary looked like she was staring down the barrel of a gun. "Ah…" she spluttered. "I think… I forgot the – um…"

Valentine shot the girl a look of barely-controlled rage.

"Leave," he commanded icily. "_Now_."

There was a moment where Mary seemed paralyzed, unable to move, and then she instantly sprinted into action.

Jada never thought she had seen a human being move so fast.

Before she could blink twice, the girl had vanished back into the corridor, leaving Jada alone with a very pissed-off Valentine Morgenstern. The mood in the room darkened instantly, and Jada guessed that she was about to pay for the maid's stupidity.

Her prediction was right.

As soon as the door closed behind the girl, Valentine rose to his feet like an aggravated cobra, ready to strike.

"Valentine – It isn't what you think," Jada appealed hastily.

He didn't answer.

Valentine stalked towards the far wall. There was another window there, although the view wasn't quite as good as the one in her bedroom – but Jada doubted that Valentine cared much about the scenery, at the moment. He seemed beyond seeing anything as he glared blindly through the polished glass.

His mouth twitched violently. He downed the remaining scotch in his crystal cup with a sharp flick of his wrist, and then threw the glass furiously at the wall. It shattered into a million, beautifully shimmering pieces.

Jada cringed.

"Theo was here," she explained quickly, slipping on her heels. "That was who the maid was talking about."

The line of Valentine's shoulders did not relax.

She began to feel worried.

"It is my fault that I did not introduce him to the maids as my brother," Jada continued, walking warily towards him. "Although anyone who has a shred of common sense could notice the family resemblance… The maids were just jumping to thoughtless conclusions, Valentine, nothing more…"

His posture did not ease. Jada observed that Valentine was gripping the windowsill – his knuckles white with the strain.

Carefully, Jada reached out her hand and touched her fingertips to Valentine's shoulder. His muscles tightened convulsively underneath the fabric of his suit, and she flinched, but he did not move away or try to shrug her off, which she counted as a victory. Gently, she slid close to him and trailed her hand down his arm. Was she imagining things, or did she really feel his body _relax_ a bit at her touch? Jada watched in wonder as his grip slightly loosened on the windowsill.

"What did your brother come here for?" Valentine growled stiffly, not satisfied.

She rested her cheek lightly against his shoulder – but it was only to buy herself time as her mind rapidly clicked away. Jada may have been a very good liar, but Valentine was naturally very good at seeing through deception. Lying to him was something that needed to be done tactfully and precisely.

"My brother found out that you were searching for the Mortal Cup," she told Valentine fluidly. "And he was worried about me." The muscles in Valentine's chest tightened at the words 'my brother' and she tried not to panic. "He came because he fears that your hunting of the Mortal Instruments will put me in danger," she explained. "And he begged me to leave the Manor with him." Jada frowned reflectively. "He was furious with me when I refused to go with him. And then he left."

She waited for a moment of agony, to see if Valentine had decided to believe her story or not. He tapped his fingertips irately on the windowsill, and she could tell by his distant expression that he was deep in thought.

"I don't remember giving my consent for any of that," he rumbled broodily.

Jada dropped her fingers from his shoulder and slid behind him. Slowly, she reached up and kissed his neck – just above the line of his white collar – feeling his body respond as she ran her hands soothingly down his back: It was like kissing a marble statue.

"I know you didn't," she answered quietly, her lips to his skin. "And I would not have let my brother come either if I had been given the choice: but I _didn't_ choose… I had no idea that Theo wanted to see me until he was waiting for me in the foyer… I would have sent him away, otherwise."

His muscles gradually unwound. Valentine's breathing was the only thing that cut through the silence between them. "What was it?" he asked sharply.

Jada glanced at him in confusion. His mouth was drawn into a tight line. "What do you mean?" she replied.

"What made you decide to stay?" he repeated.

All her thoughts from earlier resurfaced. Jada could hear her brother's voice ringing in her ears: '_I didn't come because something happened to Valentine Morgenstern,_' he had said_. _'_I came because I was worried that you might care too __much__ about what happens to him…_'

She shot Valentine a startled look through the reflection in the window. Her lips parted, but she found quickly that words had escaped her. Her feelings caught unspoken in the back of her throat, stealing her breath. Jada clamped her mouth shut hastily and closed her expression, but it was too late; Valentine had already read the emotion in her face. She glanced pointedly at her toes to avoid the response and drew herself away from him, crossing her arms defensively over her chest.

Valentine knew the answer, she told herself. He just wanted to hear her say it out loud.

Jada clamped her mouth stubbornly shut, ignoring him as she felt him glance her way. His dark gaze skimmed over her body like velvet, raising her nerves wherever it went. She wished that she could tell him to stop – but there was too large a part of her that liked the feeling. The words didn't manage to travel out of her lips.

"Jada…" he began almost gently, turning towards her.

But Jada didn't get to hear the rest of his sentence. There was a demanding knock at the sitting-room door, and she stepped instantly out of Valentine's reach.

"Come in," she called to the door, before Valentine or her common sense could protest.

He scowled at her irritably.

The next instant, the door flew open. There was a maid in the opening (admittedly, not Mary this time) but the new young lady looked flustered – like she had been running around the Manor for quite some time.

"Miss Jada," the girl sputtered. "Do you know where – Oh!" she exclaimed in relief, catching sight of Valentine. "Mr. Morgenstern, there you are! Miss Eve is waiting in your office; she says she wants to speak with you."

Valentine's agitated expression vanished in an instant, leveled over with feigned calm.

"Of course," he answered smoothly.

The explanation seemed unlikely to Jada. She wondered why Eve would want to talk to _Valentine_ so urgently… It wasn't her style to summon him and present him with a problem… Normally, _Eve_ preferred being the one summoned…

Jada watched with a strange sort of interest as Valentine shot her a displeased look, straightened his white shirt cuffs, and glided towards the door. Or perhaps _interest_ was the wrong word to use… It was _anticipation_ that she felt – anticipation that Valentine would soon be gone… that she wouldn't have to deal with his bad attitude for the next little while…

He stopped himself just before entering the hallway.

"Jada," Valentine suddenly put in, lingering in the doorframe. "I will summon you to my office after I'm done speaking with Eve: We can finish this conversation then."

Jada mentally groaned.

By 'we _can_ finish this,' she knew that Valentine actually meant 'we _WILL_ finish this.'

At least he didn't seem to be all that angry anymore, she amended... Maybe seeing Eve would put him in a better mood… She knew he was fond of her…

"Until then," Jada replied with a forced smile.

She politely inclined her head to Valentine as he threw her one last glance and disappeared into the shadowy corridor.

* * *

><p>Eve had already taken her seat at the desk when Valentine walked into his office.<p>

She was perfectly still as she sat, like something carved out of pure gold and porcelain. Her body was completely under her control; her movements so precise that her tumbling, blonde curls did not even stir as she lightly breathed… Despite that, Valentine noticed, her chest rose and fell too quickly to assume that she was calm, and her hands were knotted rigidly in her lap…

Eve was upset, that Valentine immediately understood – it was not a surprise to him considering how Jonathan had treated her… And yet, even so, her expression and posture were so tactfully guarded… so perfectly composed.

Valentine smiled with satisfaction.

Eve was exactly how he had taught her to be.

He shrugged his black suit jacket off, throwing it casually over his arm. He had been forced to change clothes after he had finished disciplining Jonathan: His son was much like himself – the pain did not affect him unless there was an abundant supply of it – and that abundant supply of pain had caused Valentine to stain his shirt beyond repair. He supposed that he only had himself to blame, after teaching his son to have such an intensely high pain threshold…

The door closed with a soft click. "You're wrist healed well," he observed, eyeing Eve meticulously.

She did not respond. Her dulled gaze was focused on a point somewhere distant, far beyond the walls of his office. It seemed for a moment like she had not even heard him. Her slender hands tightened reflexively on her lap.

There was a gaping moment of silence.

"You asked me a few days ago… if I had decided on what I want for my sixteenth birthday present," she replied suddenly, her voice sounding hollow. "I've decided what I want, now."

Valentine smirked, sliding across the room and into his place at his expansive, mahogany desk. He thought that it seemed like a strange time for Eve to be asking such a thing, but he had learned well over the years that trying to comprehend women was a fool's errand, and he decided not to question her.

"What is it that you want?" he returned, folding his hands well-manneredly on his desk.

For the first time that afternoon, Eve glanced up at him.

Her expression was unnerving; her blue eyes so clear as to make him feel transparent. An image of Ithuriel, the angel imprisoned within the Wayland Manor house, flashed across his memory, bearing Eve's same look of pure innocence. Valentine set his jaw, feeling suddenly unprepared for what she was about to say.

"I want you to take the demon blood out of Jonathan," Eve stated simply, her mouth trembling. "I want you to make him better."

Valentine reeled.

He had spent years – _years_ of his life – trying to rid Jonathan of the demonic influence in his veins, without so much as a _hint_ of a cure: There was no remedy for Jonathan that did not run the risk of killing him. After all, the only antidote for demon blood was its perfect opposite: angel blood, and Valentine had learned from experiments very early on that combining the two bloods caused a violent reaction – a war of sorts between the two opposing natures of the bloods. He knew from experience that the reaction killed every test subject from the inside out, within a matter of seconds. He would never risk of doing such a thing to his son.

Valentine pressed his fingers irritably to his temples.

And not only was the _act_ impossible, the _timing_ was awful as well.

He had just found the Mortal Cup – after over a decade of searching. His hopes had been that the Cup would be safely delivered into his hands within the next two weeks, but if he was busy trying to cure Jonathan, the possibility of him retrieving the Cup was dismal at best… Reclaiming the Cup would require hours upon hours of planning, deliberating, orchestrating… by that time Jocelyn will have long fled New York City, taking the Cup with her…

"You won't do it," Eve realized then, her voice shaking with grief. Her eyes had grown very wide and blue. "You won't…"

Valentine wondered how she always seemed to read his expressions: No one else was able to.

"I didn't say that I wouldn't do it," he replied soothingly, hoping to calm her. "Although I'll admit that I miss the days when you asked me for books and weapons like Jonathan… Is there really nothing that I can say to make you reconsider?"

"You won't do it," Eve repeated distantly, as if she had not heard him. "You won't, will you, Valentine?"

Valentine narrowed his black eyes at her curiously. It was a surprise to see Eve so defiant, when she usually submitted compliantly to whatever he said. Her motivation, he realized, was pushing her past her natural tendency to obey him: A dangerous threat, considering that Eve's motivation was her love for Jonathan.

He frowned with displeasure.

"You are asking me to achieve the unachievable," Valentine replied sternly. "Do you think that I have not tried every method, Eve – investigated every possibility? Do you think I do not want to see Jonathan cured as much as you do?"

She swallowed, obviously uncomfortable about conflicting with him. "What about my blood?" she countered hesitantly, staring down at her lap.

"Your blood?"

"Yes." Eve started to chew on her lower lip. "You said you were taking it for Jonathan…"

The statement caught him off guard.

It was true that Valentine had intended to use the blood for Jonathan, but not in the way Eve had assumed. For quite a while, he had measured the advances of Jonathan's demonic nature by the violence of the reaction between the angel blood and his son's demon blood – the fiercer the reaction was, the farther that the blood had burned out Jonathan's humanity… Usually Valentine took samples from Jonathan and blended them with Ithuriel's blood to create the reaction, but he had run out of angel's blood the night that Pangborn and Blackwell had come to the Manor and he had not been able to go to the Wayland Manor that evening – so he had thought to take some of Eve's blood instead, to isolate Ithuriel's angelic blood from Eve's veins, and to get his reaction that way… He had only thought to analyze Jonathan – not _cure_ him…

Valentine felt anticipation, mingled with the thrill of a new, unexplored possibility – but doused the idea quickly.

"It is impossible," he told Eve coolly. "I have attempted to mix angel and demon blood before. The result was unsuccessful to say the least…"

"But was it _our_ blood that you combined?" Eve asked quietly in response. She cringed a bit as he scowled at her; her boldness was beginning to annoy him. "Forgive me, Valentine," she amended. "But… wouldn't you get a different result if you mixed Jonathan's blood with mine? With… _pure_ angel and demon blood, there would be no real compatibility, I suppose… But, with Jonathan and me… we are both human. We share something in _common_… Wouldn't that change the outcome?"

The suggestion flickered within his mind like a candle-flame. True, he had thought of the idea before, but he had assumed that the bloods' supernatural elements would still oppose each other in the same violent way… but with how Eve explained it, Valentine supposed that there _was_ a strong possibility that it _could_ work, after all… And an attempt to cure Jonathan would not interfere with his efforts for the Cup…

Eve was studying his face, her expression pleading. An unfamiliar sense of obligation formed in his chest, wanting him to agree to her request – to make her happy – and his conscience dirtied. He barely ever felt such a thing for _Jonathan_ – his _son_ – and it bothered him to think that he felt more parental duty for a girl who was not even his kin than his own child.

Valentine drummed his fingers on the top of his desk.

"I will need more blood samples from you, to begin with," he answered at last, keeping his expression as neutral as he could. Eve's blue eyes lit up instantly, making the gold flecks in her irises shine brilliantly. "Some preliminary testing will need to be done before I can even consider using such a thing on Jonathan. And I can promise you nothing for certain, Eve – this will be just an experiment…"

She nodded hastily, offering him a meek smile. "I will be satisfied with a try, Valentine… Thank you."

A smile threatened to tug at his mouth. He waved his hand at the door imperiously, ordering her to leave.

After inclining her head politely to him, Eve fluidly rose and did as she had been told. Within a few moments Eve had disappeared into the corridor in a flurry of shimmering, blonde curls, closing the heavy door behind her.

Valentine waited exactly thirty seconds, until her footsteps had trailed out of earshot, and then he sprung out of his desk and grabbed his suit jacket. Dark, polished wood paneling covered the walls, and he neared a section that was familiar to him. After a minute of prodding at the smooth paneling, Valentine found the small niche that gave under his fingertips, and the section suddenly swung open – a doorway, leading to a dropping, dimly lit staircase.

He threw a suspicious final glance over his shoulder before descending the passageway, letting the hidden doorway fall shut after him.

* * *

><p><strong>What? Jonathan being cured? Is it possible? Is it safe? And will Valentine still be able to obtain the Mortal Cup?<strong>

**I don't know...**

**Wait until next chapter to find out... (Muahaha... :) ...)**

**Love, Fishie**


	16. Chapter 16: A Gamble

**Hello everyone!**

**I posted this chapter a lot faster than I thought I would... I'm sort of impressed with myself...(*Fishie pats themself on the back*). Also, for those of you have been waiting for Jada's response to Valentine's question, wait no further! This chapter explains it all...Muahaha...**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments**

* * *

><p>Jada flicked her waist-length, black hair over her shoulder and pouted.<p>

Valentine had said that he would summon her as soon as he had finished speaking with Eve in his office: But the clock told her that he had been gone for over two hours now, and Jada's limited supply of patience was wearing dangerously thin.

Moodily, she dropped her book onto her lap and shifted impatiently in her armchair, regarding the alcohol-filled, crystal decanter beside her with an almost painful sort of longing: Usually, she never drank when she was by herself – _Valentine_ was the one who enjoyed that sort of thing – but Jada's discussion with the impossible Mr. Morgenstern earlier had made her crave a really, REALLY, big glass of scotch.

Or maybe two.

Sighing, Jada turned away from the table, put her elbow on the chair arm, and cradled her chin delicately in her hand.

What in the Angel's name was taking Valentine so _long_? she wondered. It was not as if Eve was a social creature: She rarely spoke unless spoken to, and when she _did_ talk, her conversation was concise and to the point – unlike normal sixteen-year-old girls. Whatever she had to say to him couldn't have possibly taken _two_ _hours_ to spit out… Although it was out of character for Eve to even start a discussion with Valentine in the first place, Jada recalled. Eve was naturally so reserved… so wary of discords…

Jada frowned.

And how would Valentine even _keep_ Eve talking for two hours, anyway? Hold her at gunpoint? The girl barely talked to Jada, even – and Jada was her _tutor_… Valentine was –

Her body tensed suddenly: A sound of moaning hinges stopped her mid-thought. Jada spun around instantly in her chair, glancing toward the doorway – but she already guessed what she would see.

Valentine was leaning exhaustedly on the doorframe, his arms crossed casually over his chest: He was wearing the exact same suit as before, Jada noticed, although he had long since abandoned his black tie and jacket. His white cuffs were unbuttoned and rolled up carelessly to his elbows, and his shirt-collar was left undone as well. He looked unkempt, which was a wonder to Jada. She was so accustomed to seeing him perfectly put together, even when he was in an informal mood… As if for the first time, she saw the dark shadows that had formed under his eyes – from sleeplessness.

Even so, he looked strangely invigorated.

Something fresh was sparking in Valentine's black eyes: something that made him come alive with subdued energy. There was something incredibly dream-like in the intensity of his gaze, leaving Jada totally confused; it was not an expression that she had ever seen him wear before.

"Eve was right," he told her suddenly, adding to her bewilderment.

Jada rose smoothly to her feet and walked hurriedly across the room to Valentine, not stopping until she was face to face with him, looking directly up into his jewel-black eyes.

"What do you mean, Valentine?" Jada asked. She slid close to him, gliding her hands to his chest. It felt good to simply be near him, without having to feel defensive or uncertain about how he would take it. "What was Eve right about?"

A flicker of victory flashed behind his irises. She saw triumph there – mingled with the realization of a long-awaited dream…

"It works, Jada," he said intensely, as if that should have explained everything. "Eve's suggestion was a success; I found a way to cure Jonathan."

* * *

><p>Eve had been counting the number of times that she had paced across her sitting-room – hoping, somehow, that it would make the minutes pass by more quickly.<p>

Two hours had gone by since Valentine had spoken to her, and the waiting had been an agonizing torture. Eve could not stop thinking about Jonathan, about the guilt that had taken over his expression when he had glanced down at her in the foyer. There had been dread in that expression as well, as if to say 'not again; anything but _this_ again…'

Eve shuddered.

She had been wondering what it must be like for Jonathan, to live in constant fear of his own self – she wondered what it would be like to have no one else who could truly understand you. After all, Jonathan was one of a kind: the only Nephilim like himself that existed in the world. She wondered if he ever wished that he could undo the demon-blood in his veins, even if it meant taking away the strength and the agility that it gave him.

She wondered if he ever got lonely.

Eve bit her lip thoughtfully.

It felt like her heart was fluttering around in her chest as she let her mind wander. She wished that Valentine would send her word soon, to tell her if her idea for curing Jonathan had been successful or not… But how much time did these things really take? she reminded herself. She had no clue about what sort of tests Valentine needed to perform to prove her theory. She did not know if the results would come in weeks, or days, or minutes…

The thought of having to wait that long made Eve sick to the core.

Seeing Jonathan in his worst state – being taken over by his own, demonic nature – had made Eve want to have the _real_ Jonathan more than ever. Her impatience seemed to eat at the inside of her chest, turning it hollow, infecting it with the need…

A knock sounded at her door.

Eve jumped up from her armchair and sprinted immediately to the entryway, her heart leaping with expectation.

As she pulled open the heavy, elaborate door, Eve noticed that her nails were bitten down, almost to the quick. She must have been chewing on them without realizing it, she assumed – and then shuddered. Jada was going to explode when she saw that Eve had ruined her nails. Her tutor had only just gotten them to look 'acceptable,' as she had put it, a few months ago. There was definitely going to be a lecture about proper, lady-like behavior later, Eve predicted in dismay. Then she turned her attention to the gaping entryway.

A maid was hovering in the doorway, looking startled by Eve's quick response. Her eyes had flashed wide. "M – Miss Eve," the servant-girl stammered. "Forgive me… I came to bring you a message to you from Mr. Morgenstern… He says that he would like to see you again in his office…"

Anxiety and hope broke over Eve like a tidal-wave.

Without hesitating, Eve thanked the maid and rushed past her down the corridor to Valentine's office; speeding as if hell itself was following after her.

The walls fell out of focus as her anticipation took over her vision. She navigated through the hallways automatically, almost without thinking. Thankfully, Valentine's office came into sight with blessed quickness. Eve's heart was thrumming in her chest at an alarming rate as she slowed to a stop in front of the office door – and she didn't think that it was from all the running.

Her hands were trembling violently at her sides, and she almost turned around and returned to her rooms: What if Valentine had summoned her to say that curing Jonathan was impossible – that her idea had not worked at all? How would she be able to live with that answer? How could she live _without_ the answer?

After a couple deep, quick breaths, Eve knocked gently on the door, praying that it was _good_ news that she was about to hear.

Valentine was seated at his desk when Eve entered, looking much like he normally did – cool, composed, and elegant – except for the fact that his clothes and his snow-white hair were slightly disheveled. It was a bit of a shock to Eve, considering that she could not remember a time where she had ever seen Valentine Morgenstern _disheveled_, before.

Jada was at his side, which was a bit unusual, perched gracefully on the arm of his ornate, black-leather padded chair. From where Eve stood, Jada was all womanly curves and long, bronzed legs – like some impossibly beautiful statue of Venus. She was perfect: her tight pencil-skirt and creamy blouse fitting flawlessly and effortlessly. The smile that she offered Eve as she came in was as white and dazzling as the moon.

Eve had to admit that she was a little jealous.

"Have a seat, Eve," Valentine told her. His handsome face was totally neutral, except for a flickering spark in his black eyes that Eve could not place. She had no idea if what he was about to say would be good or bad.

She slid into her chair opposite Jada and Valentine – feeling, for whatever reason, like she was in trouble. Valentine eased back into his armchair, making him seem taller and more authoritative than usual. It was something that he did when delivering bad news, Eve realized, her stomach dropping.

"Eve," Valentine began. "I suppose you know why I called you here."

She nodded, suddenly unable to speak. Nervously, she started to toy with the ends of her blonde curls.

He smiled.

"The results were very positive," he said in his smooth, rich voice. She glanced up into his eyes, feeling relief wash over her like cleansing rain. "You need not worry about that."

Her joy must have shown on her face. Jada's lovely smile widened as she unhitched herself from the chair arm, flicking back her shimmering, raven hair.

"It is the details that I want to discuss," Valentine continued. His dark gaze followed Jada furtively, Eve noticed; watching Jada closely as she walked across the room and stood by the far window. "I need your blood, you see, in order for this procedure to occur."

Eve set her jaw. "Is it…" She shook her head slightly. "What is the chance that this will actually heal Jonathan? Could doing this… harm him?"

Valentine looked a bit dispirited at that, but he quickly changed his expression to something more comforting.

"You must realize, Eve," he began soothingly, and Eve instantly knew by his convincing tone that there was some major drawback to this plan. "There can be no entirely safe method – there will always be some risk involved…"

Eve lowered her tone to a whisper. "What kind of risk do you mean?"

Valentine's throat tightened.

"There were some cases where the demonic nature still dominated the angelic nature," he said in a falsely light tone. "But the percentage was so low, Eve… It barely affected the rate of success…"

"What do you mean, 'dominated'?" Eve replied. Her voice had taken on a note of displeasure, which Valentine seemed to notice.

His fake lightness faded: He seemed to recognize that Eve would not settle for anything but the raw truth.

He sighed. "Demonic blood and angelic blood are not compatible, Eve, as you already know," he explained in a low tone. "Whenever the two are combined, the two natures war against each other, meaning that only one nature – the dominant nature – will remain." He paused. "There has always been an equal chance of victory between the two bloods; the only thing that has stopped me from performing the procedure on Jonathan has been that the death rate was far too high: around fifty percent – leaving the procedure with only a twenty-five percent success rate." A smile curled the corner of his lips. "But that test, of course, was using _pure_ angel and demon blood. When I used your blood and Jonathan's, the reaction was far milder than the previous tests: the death rate sunk to a minimal, and the success rate of the angelic nature soared."

"The death rate sunk to a _'minimal'?_ What is minimal?" Eve asked. Her stomach had twisted in anxiety, to the point that it was almost painful.

He waved his hand dismissively. "Less than ten percent, Eve," he replied offhandedly. Eve was sure that her jaw dropped in horror. "Such a small number – and it could just be that the specimens in the test were too weak to withstand the procedure…"

"Jonathan could _die_?" she echoed, her voice escalating. "He could –"

Suddenly, Eve felt calming hands on her shoulders – soft, kind, soothing hands: that happened to have perfectly manicured fingernails.

"_Bambina_," Jada purred quietly into her ear. "You are getting too excited about this."

Her tutor's hands caressed her shoulders gently, and against Eve's will, she calmed down. She could smell Jada's familiar, pretty, scent – feel her reassuring warmth…

"But, Jada," Eve quietly pleaded on. "Jonathan could _die_!"

Jada slid to her side noiselessly and dropped down to her level. She slid her fingers smoothly to the side of Eve's face, persuading her student to look her in the eyes. Eve did just that, and almost got lost in the beauty that she found in her tutor's features.

"_Uccello_," Jada murmured softly. "You do not need to worry about what Valentine said."

Eve chewed her lip, thoughtfully. "But –"

Jada raised her other hand to Eve then, cupping her face totally in her palms. "Eve," Jada insisted. "Your Jonathan is strong. He will be alright."

Eve's blue eyes caught Jada's in that moment. _Your_ _Jonathan_, Jada had said… The words were a thrill to Eve, echoing in her head like a choir in a cathedral. She had always been taught that she was Jonathan's – that she was meant for him… But was it possible that Jonathan was hers, as well? That he was meant for her, too?

She wrung her hands nervously in her lap as Jada stood and returned to Valentine, resting again on the arm of his chair. "What is the success rate then?" Eve asked. "What is the chance that Jonathan will get better?"

Valentine aimed a pleased look at Jada. "About seventy percent," he told Eve.

She swallowed anxiously. "And… what about the other thirty percent?" she replied. "What if Jonathan does not get better? What would happen then?"

Valentine and Jada shared a momentary, coded glance. Eve's nervousness only grew heavier. "If the demon blood dominates," Valentine started guardedly. "Then Jonathan's condition will worsen… What you saw in the foyer, Eve, will only be the beginning."

Eve's heart dropped.

She didn't like chances, and Jonathan was especially not something that she wanted to gamble on. She was caught between desperately wanting Jonathan healed and not wanting him to get any worse – but then, she reminded herself, he would naturally get worse over time, anyway… and the success rate was so much higher than the rate of failure…

Eve lowered her gaze to her lap, mulling over her thoughts. "How quickly could the preparations be made?" she answered finally.

Valentine's smile widened a bit. "It could be ready within the next few days," he answered in a neutral tone.

Eve flinched. Was it really going to be so soon?

She could almost hear the sound of a gunshot pealing in her mind as her throat tightened.

"Alright," she agreed with an uncertain nod. "We'll do it as soon as possible."

* * *

><p>Jada watched to door close behind Eve with a strange sense of loss.<p>

The little girl that she had raised – the girl that caved under pressure, who hated conflict and avoided it at all costs – was gone. Eve had left that room as a young woman – one who was capable of dealing with problems – and Valentine seemed to know it as well.

A penetrating sort of silence cut through the tiny space between them, and Jada glanced down furtively at Valentine. There was a distant look in his eyes, as if he was staring out into an open expanse of sea instead of at a closed door.

"You never did tell me, Jada," he stated, his gaze not wavering.

She shifted uncomfortably. "Tell you what?" she asked.

He looked up at her then, and the intensity in his gaze was surprising. His eyes slowly traced the line of her jaw, her lips – and Jada had to admit that the feeling that it gave her was exhilarating. Finally, his eyes flicked up to meet hers and Jada prayed that she was hiding her feelings from him well. "Why you decided to stay here at the Manor," he replied. "Instead of leaving with your brother."

Jada turned her face away from him, as if to escape the response. "I don't know why you keep asking me that," she told him tiredly. "You know the answer already."

He smiled, in a way that made Jada's heart ache. He raised his fingers to a stray lock of her tumbling, black hair, running his fingers down the length of it as if it was a ribbon. "Perhaps I need some clarification," he said in a low tone.

Jada sighed deeply, but said nothing. Arguing with Valentine was like arguing with a brick wall. Nothing good ever came out of it, and she never got anywhere by doing it: Valentine simply talked circles around her until he found out what he wanted to know. And she had learned over the years that it was better to just tell him things as soon as he asked.

But it still didn't mean that she _wanted_ to.

Momentarily, Jada considered lying to him - telling him that she stayed because of Eve or something like it - but it was no use. What was the point of giving Valentine a false story when he already knew the truth?

She cleared her throat.

"I stayed," Jada told him stiffly. "Because somewhere during these past eight years, I think that I've fallen in love with you, Valentine Morgenstern – and to be perfectly honest, the thought totally pisses me off."

Valentine didn't look surprised really. His black eyes flashed with something very close to triumph – like he had expected her answer.

"You say it like it is a death sentence," he replied with a cool smile. He looked more amused by the whole business than he had any right to be, Jada noticed. It made her want to hit him over the head with something heavy and hard – like an encyclopedic dictionary.

She scowled and glared into her lap, hoping to ignore him. She couldn't find the mental strength to simply get up and walk away from him – which only infuriated her _more_… At any rate, she did not say a word to Valentine.

"You really _are_ upset about this," he observed after a minute, glancing up at her scowl. She felt his eyes on her skin like the warm brush of a hand, raising her nerves. "Is it so horrible for you, Jada," he added. "To be in love with me?"

"I will never be in love '_with'_ you, Valentine," she answered sharply. "Love is steady, consistent, _mutual_… _You_ are the kind of man that a woman is infatuated by, falls in love with, and then ends up leaving once she realizes that you are a cold, indifferent bastard who will never return her feelings."

Valentine watched her thoughtfully, as if trying to figure her out. His smile faded slightly, but he didn't appear to be angry with her. "So you fear that I'm unconcerned?" he asked, his voice slow.

Jada did not answer. The muscles in her jaw tightened almost against her will.

He swept his fingers absently along the line of her shoulder. "You're wrong, you know," he murmured, his fingers lingering at the base of her neck. "I'm not indifferent to you, Jada: I never have been."

She tensed in surprise, her brown eyes narrowing. Had Valentine really just _said_ that? Cautiously, Jada glanced at him, trying not to feel hopeful.

"I don't believe you," she told him tightly. Her heart was thudding painfully in her chest – telling her that she was a liar.

His black eyes sparked.

Slowly, Valentine slid his hand to her shoulder and drew her down to him. She parted her lips weakly, hoping to protest somehow, but the words caught at the back of her throat. The passion in his expression had taken her breath away. Jada only had enough time to close her eyes before Valentine pulled her face close and brushed his lips lightly over her mouth.

Like always, the feel of his skin sent a familiar, electric shudder of pleasure running down her spine, turning her limbs into soft wax. She could feel her body dragging down to his, as if by magnetic force…And the only noise of protest that she ended up making was when he drew back from her moments later, just a fraction of an inch away, so that he could look into her eyes. She saw herself reflected there in the smoldering blackness of his irises, and it made her stomach tremble. He slid his hand to her face; his fingertips cool and smooth, doing delicious things to her skin…

_God_, Jada thought in agony, studying his handsome features. If only Argyle's kiss had made her feel this way – if only his touch had been able to set her body on fire, the way that Valentine's did – maybe _then_ she would have been able to forget Valentine Morgenstern and move on.

But what she felt for Argyle had always been safe – a steady, mildly-burning affection – the kind that persevered through times of trouble; the kind that lasted forever.

What she felt for Valentine was hellfire by comparison – a flame that consumed the soul, blazing hotter and more fiercely than the summer sun.

It was a temptation that Jada had never learned to resist.

Self-hatred coursed through her veins like adrenaline, making her shiver as she helplessly dropped her mouth down and kissed Valentine's lips again.

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><p><strong>... I can laugh about that last part because it kind of comes into play two chapters from now... :) ... Let's just say that Eve is a bit too innocent for her own good...<strong>

**PS: I have already half-written the next chapter... and I don't mean to spoil anything, but it is pure Eve/Jonathan cuteness, and personally, I like it even better than the E/J kissing scene... Just saying... So stay tuned!...**

**(PSS: I'm thinking of re-writing the summary for Morgenstern Girl, just because I think that it kind of sucks... If you have any ideas let me know!)**

**Until next time,**

**Love, Fishie.**


	17. Chapter 17: Monster

**Hello everyone! Super sorry for the wait!**

**I took my time doing this chapter because I absolutely love this scene. It is pure Jonathan/ Eve romance as well, so to those who have been starving for some J/E cuteness, this is your chapter! I'll let you get into the chapter without much further ado...**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Mortal Instruments!**

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><p>Eve stepped lightly through the vacant, marble corridors, trying not to make a sound.<p>

There really seemed to be no one else in the hallways, she noticed. The staff were probably busy cooking the evening meal – but she still wanted to be cautious. If anyone found out where she was going that night, Jada would very quickly hear about it, and if Jada heard about it, then Valentine would know shortly after– and if Valentine knew, then Eve knew she would be punished for sure.

There were a number of rigid, indisputable rules that Valentine had put in place for Eve since she had come to the Manor, but the first one that she had learned – the most _important_ one that she had learned – had been that Jonathan's bedroom was _**strictly**_ off-limits. Never, under ANY circumstances, was she EVER to go in there.

Of course, being six years old at the time that Valentine had said it, Eve had no idea why she would ever _want_ to go into Jonathan's rooms, in the first place, but as her childhood years had melded into the teenager stage, Eve had learned. Now, the idea of even standing in Jonathan's _doorway_ filled her with a fluttery sort of apprehension.

She had snuck into his bedroom more than once, certainly. But Jonathan had never been _in_ _there_ when she came. Eve had always been there alone; to quickly grab a shirt from his closet or to borrow his stele. He had always been out of the picture…

With a set of her jaw, Eve swallowed her blushing, girlish hesitation and pressed on – regardless of her nagging doubts.

She knew that she had to talk to Jonathan – and she knew that night might very well be her last chance.

Furtively, she ducked behind the corner of the wall, peeking around it to see if the coast was clear. Jonathan's bedroom door was visible from the marble wall where she stood, but unfortunately it was a bit _too_ visible: far along the massive hallway, in plain, unguarded sight – and Eve knew that she would have to be especially careful if she did not want the maids to find her there.

With the slinking grace of a lioness, Eve noiselessly glided across the space and put her back against the wall, right beside Jonathan's elegant, mahogany door. Her golden hair fell thickly over her shoulders, tumbling to her waist, and it was comforting in a bizarre way, Eve thought; or maybe it just felt reassuring to have something to hide behind. Either way, after a long, shallow breath, she finally raised her fist and knocked timidly on Jonathan's door.

The response was as quick as it was violent.

Eve flinched as she heard a snarling growl emanate from within the room, and then she felt something hit the inside of dark-wood door, fiercely. Eve wondered if it was a book.

"_Go_ _away_," a familiar voice snarled.

Fear panged in her chest, but Eve fought it down.

_At least I know Jonathan is there_, she thought dully.

Eve took a breath in, ready to try and reason with him, but a noise at the end of the corridor cut her thought short. She watched in horror as a heaping, black shadow drifted into view at the far end of the hallway, bringing with it the sound of the maids' chattering. Time was not on her side: she only had a few seconds before the maids would see her there…

She panicked. There wasn't enough time for her to go back to her hiding spot behind the corner, and there was no other doorway close enough to her…

Before she could overthink her decision, Eve yanked on Jonathan's door-handle, shoved the door open, and slipped inside before anyone could see her. Then she edged the door closed as softly as she could, hoping that the maids had not heard –

She felt relieved, but it was short-lived.

"_God_," a familiar voice spat. "Do you maids not have _any_ common sense?"

Eve revolved around slowly – and her jaw dropped.

Jonathan's rooms were designed just like the rest of the rooms in the Manor: with a personal sitting room at the front and a bedchamber deeper within. When she had thought up the crazy idea to come there, Eve had imagined that she might find Jonathan sitting by the fireplace in one of his sophisticated armchairs when she entered, scowling up at her like a thundering rain-cloud…But that wasn't what she saw.

Instead, Jonathan was standing in the center of his sitting-room, his back facing her.

He was surrounded by the timeless kind of furniture that had become familiar to Eve over the years: the style of furniture that had a sort of Baroque flair in their elaborate details. The style that could always catch Eve's eye with their intricacy… And it was right there, in the midst of all that beauty that Eve saw Jonathan; his black shirt dropped on the marble floor beside him, white bandaging wrapping the span of his ribcage to his hips.

Eve's cheeks flushed red.

Her mind immediately shrieked: _What was I thinking? He's shirtless! Out, out!_

But as her eyes ran up the line of his form, Eve could see that the bandages that covered Jonathan's back were riddled with chaotic, scarlet strokes of blood, and she stayed.

_Blood? Why?_ she wanted to ask, but then a mental image of the foyer sprung back to her – where Valentine had shoved Jonathan into one of those dark doorways – and she knew exactly what had happened to Jonathan.

"I've told you maids a _dozen_ _times_," Jonathan raged on, spinning around to face her. His handsome face was openly furious, hateful. "_Get_ –"

All of a sudden, Jonathan really seemed to _see_ her. Then he stopped dead.

He took in the sight of Eve standing there, leaning against his closed door, her eyes wide with shock, and all the fury in his violent expression slowly melted away. Something exposed, surprised, pained flashed behind his eyes for a moment, but the emotion was there and gone too quickly for Eve to fully identify it.

From what she saw, it looked like guilt.

"Eve," Jonathan said numbly, realizing that she was there. His expression closed tightly, hiding what he was really feeling, but Eve could sense that his emotional armor was stretched paper-thin. A strange vulnerability lingered in his jewel-black eyes as he shook his head. "I didn't – …What are you doing here?"

Her lips opened, but nothing came out. The warm threat of tears choked Eve's throat, burning her, and she glued her gaze immediately to her toes. Eve knew that if she so much as _looked_ at Jonathan again, she would probably burst into tears.

Valentine had punished Jonathan severely, she knew. The unforgettable whip slashes across Jonathan's back told her _that_… But it was _her_ fault that those lashes were there in the first place… If only she hadn't talked with Theo… Maybe then Jonathan would not have gotten so angry with her… Maybe then he wouldn't have treated her the way that he had… And then maybe Valentine would not have punished him the way he had…

_It's my fault_, Eve told herself miserably. _Jonathan was hurt because of __me_.

There was a minute of silence that stretched between them, where the only sound in the room was the grandfather clock, ticking steadily in the corner. Her eyes only clouded further; she could feel Jonathan watching her quietly, his eyes running down her frame.

"I know," he said to her suddenly, gesturing to his back. "It's ugly, but… It really isn't that bad…"

Eve didn't respond. She hadn't been thinking about the ugliness of Jonathan's wounds, not in the physical sense, but it was reassuring to hear him speak anyway.

Jonathan seemed to misunderstand her silence.

He waited for a second, and then set his jaw and started to walk away from her; she could hear his footsteps retreating from his sitting room into his bedchamber. A second stab of guilt hit Eve's conscience, and her gaze immediately snapped up, even if it was only to watch him leave…

"Jonathan," Eve pleaded at a whisper. Her voice sounded thick. "I didn't mean –… Jonathan, please… wait…"

The footsteps stopped for a moment. He turned.

"It's alright," Jonathan replied softly. She looked up into his mild expression in alarm. It must have been the first time Jonathan had ever said something 'softly' to her before; and Eve desperately hoped that it wouldn't be the last. "I'll be back in a minute," he assured her.

She studied the stiff line of his shoulders as he slipped into the bedchamber.

Perplexity had shown in Jonathan's normally composed expression, but there was something else there – something almost insecure. Eve wondered if Jonathan was as unsure about being alone with her in his bedroom as she was, and the thought was both frightening and reassuring at the same time. On one hand, it made the situation between them quite awkward, but on the other hand, Eve supposed that it was better for Jonathan to be _uncertain_ about her presence in his bedroom than to be _too_ _certain_ about it…

Eve's gaze wandered as she stood there quietly – her sapphire eyes gliding over the fireplace mantle, skimming the polished line of bookshelves in the corner – and then she heard a soft rustling in the other room, a pained intake of breath, and her curiosity took over.

_What in the world is Jonathan doing? _she wondered.

Tentatively, Eve stepped slowly, lightly, across the sitting-room, heading towards Jonathan's bedchamber door.

She fought the urge to blush as she neared the opening – this was Jonathan's real _bed_-room, after all – but once she got there and peeked inside, Eve realized that blushing was not necessary. Jonathan was standing halfway between the door and his elaborate canopy bed, still fully shirtless, but what Eve saw could hardly be considered blush-worthy skin. Jonathan's torso was still wrapped up with that thick, white gauze, hiding the marble tone of his muscle underneath. The haunting, red stains still riddled his back – the blood seeping even through the gauze…

Eve's eyes widened in horror when she saw that Jonathan was fiddling with the white fabric, trying to remove the strips of bandaging.

"_God_," he was muttering to himself. "I've had to replace this _three_ _times_ already…"

Eve darted into his bedchamber urgently – a tiny voice in her mind screaming that it was a horrible idea to be there – and instantly gripped Jonathan's pale, Rune-scarred hands in her own.

"_Don't_! –" she pleaded quickly.

There was a moment of pause. Their gazes met.

Jonathan looked down at her with surprise at first, but then his black gaze darkened to a smoldering awareness as he took in the sight of her hands; gripping his own hands, pressed firmly against his bare chest… Eve's cheeks blazed furiously as she realized, in that moment, just how close she was to Jonathan; that she was touching him, that he was shirtless, and that she was really in his _bed-_room, with everything that that entailed…

Her eyes dropped to her toes in an instant, and she tentatively cleared her throat. "Don't take off the bandages," she explained unevenly. "You'll only reopen the wounds…"

There was an audible falter in Jonathan's breathing as Eve recoiled – sliding her hands off his chest and returning them to her sides. She hoped that his ragged breath was because of the pain in his back and not because of something else.

"And what am I supposed to do, then, Angel-girl?" Jonathan asked tiredly. "Just let myself bleed?"

Eve started chewing on her bottom lip.

"You could add another layer of gauze," she suggested meekly. "Here – where are the bandages?"

Jonathan hesitantly handed her a round, pale object – something that felt light and soft in Eve's palm: it was a neat roll of bandaging. But the meaning of it all set in very slowly.

Did Jonathan really expect _her_ to bandage him up? Eve wondered. He had never asked for her help with anything like that before… He was always so stubborn about nursing himself alone…

With a businesslike nod, Eve tried to look Jonathan in the eye without blushing – and failed. She could feel the telltale heat rushing to her face, and knew that her cheeks must have been flaring scarlet red. The open bedchamber doorway drew Eve's gaze like a lighthouse beacon, showing her the bright, safe sitting-room beyond.

"Maybe you should sit down, Jonathan," Eve suggested gently, her eyes focused on the sitting-room.

This was the part, she assumed, where Jonathan would walk past her and lead her politely out of his bedchamber.

But he didn't.

Dismayed, Eve could only stare as Jonathan took a few strides backward – and sat himself down on the edge of his elegant canopy bed.

On his _bed_.

Jonathan was looking up at her with a strange expression then – as if he was not aware of his imprudence at all. "Here," he offered, patting a space on the mattress beside him. "Sit."

If Eve's face could have turned a deeper red – it would have. As it was, she felt like she was about to throw up all over her shoes. Every lesson that she had ever received regarding womanly virtues and chastity flipped through her mind, but she forced the thoughts away. Jonathan didn't look like he wanted to do anything… _improper_ with her – well, not _that_ night, at least…

Eve wordlessly slid to Jonathan's side – and sat as far away from Jonathan and as close to the edge of the mattress as she could without falling off. Her hands were trembling fiercely as she unwound a strip of the white bandaging.

_This is a bad idea_, her mind badgered. _Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea…_

She set her jaw.

"Put your arms up," Eve told Jonathan weakly.

He did.

She saw the hard tone of his muscle respond as he raised his arms for her, and the sight of it made Eve's stomach clench wistfully. After a long, deep breath, she finally wrapped her arms around his torso and let her medical training take control of her hands. Her fingers skillfully circled the bandaging around Jonathan's ribs, down to his waist, and Eve nervously tried not to make any skin contact with him in the process.

Her eyes were drawn, against her will, to the drying slashes of blood that the new bandaging was covering up, and she was grateful that Jonathan could not see how much the wounds were upsetting her. Valentine was her mentor, like a father, even. It was impossible for Eve to imagine him ever hurting Jonathan like this… She didn't even want to think about such a thing.

Eve turned her face hastily away from Jonathan's back as her hands continued to work.

The bandages should be tight, she reminded herself, to keep her mind preoccupied. But not so tight that it might keep the wounds from healing properly.

It took her less than a minute to fully bind Jonathan up, in the end. He silently took the roll of bandages from her hand once she was finished, and secured the strip of cloth at the front of his chest.

_Leave now_, her mind ordered as she sat at the edge of his bed. _Go. You shouldn't be here_…

But something stronger than Eve's conscience was making her stay.

Jonathan's shoulders were tight, rigid with strain, and she didn't think it was just because of physical pain. Eve watched as Jonathan shifted his head slightly, rustling his pale, tumbled hair. It was as if he might glance over his shoulder at her, but even after a long time of waiting, he didn't. Eve wondered if it was because he didn't want her to see his face – if maybe there was something in his expression that he didn't want to share with her…

Eve immediately knew that something was seriously bothering Jonathan… It was not like him to outwardly show his feelings. Her heart froze in her chest.

"Eve," Jonathan began, cutting the heavy pause between them. All she could see of his face was a slight curve of his cheekbone, the hard line of his jaw… "About… what happened in the foyer… About what I did…"

She stopped him.

"It's alright, Jonathan," she assured him, shaking her head softly. "I didn't come here to talk to you about that… It isn't why I came at all. You don't have to…"

Eve wrung her hands in her lap nervously; suddenly not wanting to hear what Jonathan had to say. Without a word he turned himself around on the mattress, so that he was facing her, and took her left hand gently in his own. She wished that she knew what he was thinking, but his eyes were downcast, unreadable – hidden underneath his silvery eyelashes.

"I want to see your wrist," he told her numbly.

Hastily, Eve pulled her hand away from Jonathan and instantly sprung to her feet. A single image flashed across Eve's memory – a picture of that blank look that had sparked in Jonathan's eyes as he'd snapped her wrist in the foyer – and it wasn't something that Eve wanted him to dwell upon. The emotional pain that accompanied the image was startling; she didn't want Jonathan to beat himself up about something that had happened in the past, something that was beyond his control…

Eve only felt that mental agony deepen as she gazed down at Jonathan. Something had shattered in his expression as she had recoiled away from him, making Eve wonder if he had somehow misread her movement. An aching shadow of betrayal lingered deep in his eyes, as if Eve had just spun around and delivered another whiplash to his back.

"You're _afraid_," he stated coldly. It was the statement of an icy realization – an inevitable fact.

His pain seemed to bleed from his words into her heart, and Eve's eyes started to burn with tears again.

"No, Jonathan," she tried to say.

But Jonathan was beyond hearing her.

He got to his feet and stormed to the other side of the room, and Eve didn't try to follow him. She sunk helplessly back onto his bed instead, her hands knotted rigidly in her lap, and watched him freeze by his bedroom window. She had done something wrong, she knew – something terribly, impossibly wrong.

She had _hurt_ _Jonathan_.

The pearly light of the moon outlined his silhouette, turning his form into a black bulk of shadow. His snow-white hair was the only thing that seemed to catch light – like an illuminated halo.

"You're afraid of me, too – aren't you?" Jonathan repeated quietly, his shoulders winding tight.

Eve's lips tightened. Fear was the last thing that she felt for him.

"No!" she answered, shaking her head emphatically. "Of course not. No one is afraid of you, Jonathan."

Jonathan snapped around and faced her then. His black eyes were gleaming brightly in the dimness, and Eve instantly knew that she had plucked on one of his nerves. His mouth was hard, pained.

"_Everyone__ is afraid of me!_" he vowed heatedly, his handsome face a mask of despair. "Why do you think my mother left me so many years ago?" he spat. "She thought I was a monster, a _freak_!"

Eve reeled. Of all the subjects that she thought Jonathan might bring up, his mother was certainly not one of them. She was a taboo subject, something only barely whispered about in the Manor. But more than that, Eve had never even heard Jonathan recognize the fact that he _had_ a mother, before then. From what Eve knew, the woman had run off before Jonathan's third birthday, and Eve had always assumed it was because of a disagreement between her and Valentine, not because of Jonathan's condition… Was it possible that a mother could hate her own child that much – so much that she could abandon them? What kind of woman would do that?

"Your mother was wrong to leave you, Jonathan," Eve told him quietly. "But you still have your father. He –"

"Even my _father_ feels it," Jonathan continued relentlessly, glaring blindly at the wall. "Why do you think he punishes me so severely? Why do you think he's gone so often? It's because he's _afraid_ of me, because he can't _control_ me, because he doesn't _understand_ me! …Both my parents _hate_ me, Eve! They're the only family I have and they _hate_ _me_!"

Eve said nothing. This raw, vulnerable Jonathan was new to her, and his words were difficult for her to swallow.

Slowly, he began walking towards her. His fury seemed to diminish with every step – dissolving into a hopelessness that was agonizing for Eve to see.

"You were always the only one…" he said thickly, nearing her. "The only one who ever seemed to look and really see me for who I was. And I, I hurt you, Eve… I hurt the only person who ever seemed to give a damn about me. I've ruined everything."

His voice trailed off into silence as he lowered himself onto the mattress beside her. He looked younger than normal; his cold arrogance was completely washed away from his facial expression. It made him more beautiful than Eve had ever thought he was before – and that was saying a lot. His beauty was the kind that she could touch, now – the kind of beauty that was _attainable_ to her.

He reached out and took her hand in his, and this time, Eve didn't try to resist him. Silence stretched out and filled the tiny space between them.

"It wasn't me, Eve," Jonathan whispered suddenly. She had to admit that feel of his skin was a relief. It seemed to strip away any of her hesitation. "During everything that happened in the foyer… you – you have to believe that it wasn't really _me_."

Eve nodded in response, her throat feeling unbearably tight.

"I know," she replied softly. Ducking down, Eve planted a quick kiss on their intertwined fingers. Her heart seemed to break in her chest, spilling out a wave of love as she pressed her lips on his Rune-scarred skin. "I know that it wasn't you, Jonathan."

He took a long, slow breath then, his chest rising and falling evenly. She saw his expression change ever so slightly – and it was confusing to her: Eve had thought that he would be relieved at her positive answer, but when Jonathan finally looked up at her again, his eyes were more miserable than ever.

"I'll understand if you hate me, Eve," he told her guardedly. "You have _every_ _reason_ to hate me, at this point, but just… just… don't be afraid of me." He searched out her eyes and their gazes locked firmly for a moment. "My parents think that I'm a monster, but… I don't think I am." Jonathan slid their knotted hands up over his chest, until they rested directly over his beating heart. A shudder ran down Eve's spine as she felt the muscular tone of his chest pass underneath her fingertips. "Demons… they don't have pulses; they can't care about anyone or anything… but… I'm not that far gone… Not yet." He dropped his gaze to their hands again, hiding his eyes. "So don't give up on me, Eve… Not until then. I could deal with you hating me, but… I couldn't take it if you just gave up on me like everyone else…"

A flicker of something very close to anger burned in Eve's chest. Her vision was so blurred with unshed tears that she couldn't really even see Jonathan. She had always thought Jonathan was so controlled – so _alright_ with everything. It had never past her mind that he might be lonely… scared even.

"I will _never_ give up on you," she whispered resolutely. "Not even if you _did_ go that far." Eve swallowed her burning tears. "I love you, Jonathan," she breathed.

He scoffed at her bitterly – his normal, cynical self returning – although his voice was thick with an emotion Eve couldn't identify. "You don't have to lie to make me feel better, Eve. You'd have to be an _idiot_ not to hate me, after what I did to you…"

"I'm not an idiot any more than you are a monster," Eve replied determinedly. "You will always be 'Jonathan' to me, no matter how… how far you get from your humanity, or whatever you call it. The demon blood isn't _you_ –"

"It _is_ me!" Jonathan growled passionately. "It's who my father _made_ _me_ _to_ _be_, Eve. Why can't you see that? You can't change what he's done to me any more than he can change it himself. And you wouldn't do it if you could. My father's will has always been top priority to you –"

"No!" Eve cried. "Don't even _think_ that!" She gripped Jonathan hands tightly, ruthlessly, staring straight into his black eyes. A sharp breath escaped her lips – a sob – and then she felt a single, blistering tear roll down her cheek. "You have _always_ been more important to me than him," she vowed in her wavering voice. "_Always_. And you always will be. You are 'Jonathan' to me – no matter what Valentine thinks. I will _never_ think you are a monster. _Never_. I swear that by the Angel."

Something gleamed inside Jonathan's jewel-black irises, then. His mouth trembled for an instant, and then hardened into a stiff, perfectly controlled line. She wondered what he was thinking.

"You're stupid to love me, Angel-girl," Jonathan told her unevenly.

Eve took one hand off Jonathan's and wiped her teary eyes. "I don't care," she stated fearlessly. "I _love_ you, Jonathan. I've loved you ever since I was ten years old. And there is _nothing_ that you could do or say that would make me feel any differently."

He made a sudden, inelegant noise – and Eve realized that it had been a momentary, bitter repression of laughter.

Eve looked into Jonathan's eyes in a moment of pure surprise, and then watched as his armor of control suddenly came crumbling down. He looked at her as if she had given him something vital – something he had been starving for all his life.

"God," he whispered, his eyes shining brightly. His voice cracked half-way through the word; and he reached out his hand to delicately stroke her cheek. "God, Eve, why are you always so stupid?"

A fresh stream of tears spilt over her cheeks again. Without thinking, she threw her arms around Jonathan's neck, embracing him helplessly.

Her body melted against his, molding into his warm arms and chest like hot candlewax. Eve breathed him in – smelling the spicy, dark scent of his hair and skin as he slid his hands around her, cradling her back. She nestled her head contentedly into the crook of his neck, listening to the rhythm of his breathing.

There was no place on earth that she would have rather been.

But it was all over too soon.

He gently detached himself away from her shortly after, drawing back to look her in the eyes. "You have to go," he told her softly, catching her confused gaze. "The maids have been in and out of my room all night, checking up on me." He smiled half-heartedly, a little humored. "If they found you here…"

Eve nodded without wanting to. She was reluctant to leave Jonathan after all they had just said to each other. It felt like a betrayal of her sense of romantic justice. But sometimes, Eve reminded herself, necessity trumps sentimentality: Jonathan was right. If she was found there, the both of them would be in serious trouble – and she had created _enough_ problems for Jonathan already, she mentally added.

Her face darkened as she pulled away from Jonathan, trailing her fingers down the bare skin of his arms. If only she could stay there forever, if only Jonathan was always so kind, so gentle…

Eve thought of her conversation earlier with Valentine, when he had said that Jonathan might get better. Is this what Jonathan would be like, then? Would he normally be this easy to get along with? This kind?

Eve hoped he would be. Being with Jonathan like this was a dream come true.

Slowly she stood up and fidgeted with the hem of her shirt sleeve. Then, with one last lingering look at Jonathan, she turned and slipped stealthily out of his rooms – into the vacant corridor beyond.

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><p><strong>Did you like it?<strong>

**This honestly has been one of my favorite chapters so far. I loved to see Jonathan a bit more vulnerable than usual, and I loved to see his perception about his parents... It _is_ pretty sad though, in a beautiful kind of way...**

**Next chapter begins on a bit of a funny note. It is going to be a short chapter, I think, but it is the last chapter before Jonathan is changed. (I reserve the right to know if that is for good or for bad though... ;) ...)**

**PS: This story is meant to take place throughout the normal City of Bones, City of Ashes, and City of Glass books, in case you are wondering. All the facts should line up perfectly, as well as the timing... It is just my interpretation of the story from the Morgenstern's POV...**

**See you next time!**

**Love, Fishie. **


	18. Chapter 18: Catalyst

**Hello everyone! Very sorry for the late update!**

**I thought that this chapter was supposed to be short... Oh well, I suppose I lied. ****Like promised, however, this is the last chapter that I will post before Jonathan is Changed. Will it be for good or for evil? Hmm... I'm undecided...**

**PS: There are a few responses to a couple comments I got at the end of the chapter. Read them if you like...**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Mortal Instruments!**

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><p>Eve sat at her desk, anxiously biting her fingernails off one by one.<p>

Her heart was thrumming inside her ribcage like a tiny bird, filling her ears with a strange, electric noise that sounded similar to a swarm of angry bees. Her thoughts were fixed on Jonathan – on the way that he had behaved last night, on the way that he had said that she was stupid to love him, on the way that he had held her so gently in his powerful arms…

She had been thinking about him all night, actually – so much so that she hadn't even slept after she had gone to bed. Her mind had travelled in endless circles of thought as she had lain awake in her scarlet blankets and gold-trimmed pillows, and despite her best efforts to rest, the image of Jonathan's beautifully vulnerable expression had been seared into the back of her eyelids. It seemed to be there whenever she closed her eyes, constantly reminding her of him.

She would wonder if Jonathan was awake, if he was thinking of her too, if her words had gotten to him somehow… over and over and over again until her grandfather clock had rung out at six o'clock that morning.

But her morning had been just as restless.

Breakfast had been cancelled in the formal sense, Jonathan was being confined to his rooms by his father's orders, and Valentine himself had mysteriously disappeared for whatever reason – so there seemed to be no point to eating in the dining hall by herself.

Eve had taken the meal alone in her personal rooms.

By seven o'clock, she had finished breakfast, which gave her precisely an hour of free time before her morning lessons with Jada started. Usually, she just talked with Jonathan during that hour, but of course, that was an impossibility. Jonathan was being jailed in his rooms, not allowed to leave…

Without many more options left to choose from, Eve had simply gone to the small office-like room where she took her lessons, sat down at her desk, and spent her time reviewing her study-books. But the reading hadn't helped to ease her mind. A nervous sense of foreboding swirled in her chest, making her want to go to Valentine and call the whole 'healing Jonathan' thing off. She would rather have the relationship that she shared with Jonathan hours earlier – which was real and true, even though demon blood still ran in his veins – rather than potentially lose him to death or _worse_…

But her conscience stopped her every time.

_Jonathan doesn't want to be a monster_, Eve told herself strongly. _And if his condition is just left to get worse – if the demon blood keeps eating away his humanity – that __is__ what he will become._

Her fingers trembled a bit as she tucked a golden strand of hair behind her ear, and Eve shifted uncomfortably in her desk.

She just hoped that Jonathan would be alright.

Hastily, her eyes skimmed over the heavy marble clock on Jada's desk. Her tutor was unusually late for their lesson, Eve saw, and the fact was making her a bit nervous. Jada may have had her downfalls, but she was never, EVER late. Punctuality was something that Jada prided herself on – and now she was more than half an hour late for their normal, eight o'clock lesson.

Restlessly, Eve folded her pale arms across her chest, stood, and strolled over to the only window in the room. Her nervousness seemed to boil under her skin like poison, reminding her that in the matter of a day or two, Jonathan would be changed – either for good or for worse – and that she would have to live with the consequences of that result forever. She pulled aside the thick, velvet drapes and was greeted to the unpleasant sight of rain slithering down the polished glass pane, distorting her view of the Idrisian countryside beyond. Dark grey clouds were smeared across the sky, churning with an oncoming storm.

Somewhere, thunder growled, and then there was a loud clap that Eve thought might have been lightening – if it hadn't come from behind her.

Eve spun around, just in time to see a person swinging into the polished, dark-wood doorway behind her: a person with a familiar hour-glass figure; tumbling, raven hair; and the lovely, devilish smile of a fallen angel.

Jada.

But she was different than Eve had ever seen before.

Her tutor's shiny, black hair was wild and tousled; and her business-like clothes, for the first time that Eve could remember, were messy and inelegantly wrinkled, as if they had been put on in a hurry: The few top buttons of her white blouse were carelessly undone. Her lips looked chapped and bitten… Jada wasn't wearing makeup either, Eve noticed in surprise, or perhaps it had all simply faded…

Not that it mattered much.

Her tutor was a natural beauty, with her perfect, radiant skin and her long, thick eyelashes. She didn't really need any beauty products – but without all the cosmetics, Jada appeared far less put-together than Eve had ever seen before, and it came as a shock to her.

Eve was used to Jada always looking like a perfectly manicured goddess.

"_Bambina_," Jada greeted breathlessly, her hand on her hitching chest. Had Jada _run_ there? A lazy smile clung to her flawlessly sculpted lips. "I am so sorry I am late, _uccello_. I completely lost track of time."

Eve was too relieved to be annoyed; she was just happy that Jada had come. Her tutor's presence settled her nerves.

Eve slid immediately to her little desk.

"It's alright, Jada," Eve insisted sunnily. "I really don't mind… I was just… reviewing some of my old lessons, anyway…"

Her tutor's smile widened beautifully as she walked into the room.

"Ah, Eve, _mio_ _angelo_ _custode_," Jada chuckled softly. She slid her hand affectionately over Eve's shoulder as she walked past her. "You have always been so responsible."

A strange scent caught on the air as her tutor went by. It was the pleasant, familiar, thick smell of someone Eve knew – but it was distinctly unlike Jada's own, pretty scent. Eve could almost put a face to that smell, but between her anxiety and her lack of sleep, the answer seemed to be locked in her mind, fluttering just on the tip of her tongue… That scent wasn't Jonathan's… No… It was somebody else's…

"Alright, _bambina_," Jada began, reaching inside a drawer in her desk. Unlike Eve's little school-desk, Jada's desk was an ornate, mahogany masterpiece – it was almost as big as the one in Valentine's office, all solid wood at the front, and engraved beautifully with elegant scrawling designs here and there. When Jada drew her hand back from the drawer, she held a neat stack of papers and a nondescript pencil. "Would you rather start with your French lesson first? Or would you rather get this very odious-looking History lesson over and done with?"

Jada perched herself on the edge of the desk and read over the papers with some scrutiny, twiddling the pencil in her fingers. Almost absently, it seemed, she crossed her long, ribbony legs with perfect grace, showing off her stylish, designer high heels…

Eve frowned.

Jada could be crawling out of a mud pit, and she would still look as gorgeous as a supermodel.

Her mind was clicking away, still trying to find the source of Jada's strange scent… Then instantly, the answer came to her – as simply as spring rain – and Eve wondered how she hadn't guessed it before.

"Jada," Eve said, realizing, "were you with _Valentine_ at all this morning?"

Her tutor flinched.

The pencil snapped in Jada's grip, and the two wooden pieces of it toppled to the ground at her high-heeled feet.

She looked up at Eve in alarm. Eve could have sworn that Jada was blushing, but then her tutor turned her face away, hiding her expression.

"You –…" she stammered in her faint, Italian accent. "I have no idea what you mean. Of course not."

Eve guessed that there was something more to the story, but she shrugged dismissively, not wanting to aggravate Jada. "It was just a guess," she replied.

A knock suddenly sounded at the door.

Jada slid to the door and opened it hastily, avoiding Eve's gaze. The open doorway revealed a pretty, mousy-haired maid with a silver tea tray in her hands.

"Constance," Jada breathed. "What are you doing here?"

The maid shot Jada a conspiratory look and plunked the tea set down on the tutor's magnificent desk. "Bringing you coffee," she replied pleasantly. When Jada shot her a confused look, the maid added: "It was Mr. Morgenstern's orders."

"Oh," answered Jada, looking charmed. An enraptured smile crept to the tutor's lips as she crossed her arms. "That was very thoughtful of him."

The maid rolled her eyes knowingly.

"And _this_," the maid added, placing a tall glass in front of Eve, "is for you."

A confused crease formed between Eve's eyebrows. She eyed the thick contents of the glass suspiciously. "What is it?" she asked.

"Orange juice," the maid replied.

Eve's confusion only deepened. "Why do I have to drink orange juice?"

"I don't really know," Constance shrugged. "Mr. Morgenstern said something about replenishing sugars and fluids, but that was all. You can ask him yourself when you see him. He's asked that you meet him in the infirmary."

Eve glanced up at Jada. Her tutor had just poured herself a steaming cup of coffee and was taking an elegant sip of it, her brown eyes avoiding Eve's.

"We'll go," Jada said, unhitching herself from the desk. She clutched her coffee cup to her chest, as if what was inside it as precious to her as her own life. "Come, _uccello_," she called, disappearing into the corridor in a flurry of shimmering, black hair.

Eve frowned, grabbed her glass, and followed Jada obediently as she glided out of the room. The infirmary was located only a few hallways down from the study room. Eve ignored her tutor pointedly on the way there, and spent the walk to the medical wing drinking her orange juice with single-minded vigor.

Valentine was waiting for them when they arrived. The infirmary wasn't really as impressive as the name suggested; it was an all-white room, which consisted of a small number of beds, a couple cabinets with medical supplies, a linen closet, and not much else. A few maids swarmed around the eldest Morgenstern, busying themselves with putting clean, white sheets on one of the narrow beds.

"Eve – Miss Buonavento," Valentine greeted, once they entered. He was wearing his regular, white, button-up shirt, but instead of his ordinary black suit-jacket and pants, today Valentine's suit was a smoky grey color.

Eve almost sighed with relief.

When Valentine wore grey, it seemed to soften his striking features, making him appear less tall and imposing than he really was. It made Eve feel less anxious when she was around him… A cool smile curled Valentine's pale lips, making him look disturbingly like Jonathan – making him look more handsome than he usually was…

Eve thought she saw one of the maids furtively glance his way.

"We came as soon as you called, Mr. Morgenstern," Jada answered, flashing a dazzling smile at Valentine. "Is there a problem?"

Jada slid close to Valentine as she strode past him – perhaps a little _too_ close – and sat down on a little cabinet at the end of one of the beds, sipping her coffee. Eve watched as Valentine's smile widened and he seated himself elegantly next to her.

"There is no problem," he promised Jada in his smooth, velvety voice. "There is just some remaining business that needs to be dealt with… Come, Eve," Valentine waved gracefully to the neatly-made bed in front of him. "Sit."

Eve did as she was told.

Valentine was watching her calmly – with the steady, level gaze that had always been Eve's pillar of reassurance throughout her childhood. His eyes were just like Jonathan's, she thought; a two-tone layering of black, which occasionally sparked with a flicker of emotion or intensity.

"I spoke with Jonathan this morning, Eve," he began succinctly, leaning forward a bit. He was still impossibly tall, even though he was only sitting; the top of Jada's head barely reached above his shoulder. "He's agreed to undergo this procedure, if you are still willing to continue on with it."

Valentine left the end of his phrase open – purposefully, like a question.

_Jonathan agreed to it_, Eve told herself, fighting away her doubts. _He wants the demon blood out of him. He wants this._

She knotted her fingers tightly around her glass of orange juice.

"Yes, Valentine," Eve replied unwaveringly. "I want to continue on with it."

"Good." Valentine's eyes flashed like black diamonds. "That was what I wanted to hear." His gaze ran thoughtfully over Jada while she took another drink of her coffee – as if she were a remarkable piece of art that he was trying to properly appreciate. "The procedure will take place tomorrow morning, then," he added without looking at her. Eve's stomach dropped. _Tomorrow morning? _she groaned internally._ Was it going to be so soon?_ "But there is something else that I need from you first."

Eve blinked up at him curiously. "What is that?"

Suddenly, his lips quirked up at the corner, making him look more like his handsome son than ever.

"I need the catalyst," he answered resonantly. "The catalyst which will instigate the reaction that finally heals Jonathan…" His black eyes locked with Eve's blue ones for a single, frightening second. Anticipation coursed through his dark gaze like pent-up, static electricity; she was awed by the intensity that she saw there. "I need your _blood_, Eve."

She glanced away from Valentine, and stared instead at the cup of orange juice on her lap. Something about what he said had unsettled her.

Within a few seconds, Eve was nervously chewing on her bottom lip. The thought of anyone taking her blood always seemed to anxiously twist her stomach – although it _did_ explain why Valentine wanted her to drink something. She needed to replenish the fluid and sugars in her body just like the maid had said, if Valentine was intending to take her blood... Worriedly, Eve wondered just how _much_ blood Valentine intended to take.

A look of concern passed over Jada's face as Valentine spoke. It was accompanied by a fierce, motherly protectiveness that gleamed in her brown eyes like flames. Just at that moment, Jada flicked her shadowy black hair over her shoulder, as if to speak, and Eve's thought process stopped immediately. A mark on Jada's neck caught her attention.

"Wait – Jada!" Eve cut in worriedly. "Are you alright?"

Valentine and Jada looked at her with matching expressions of bewilderment. They both seemed a little amused by her outburst. Eve felt like an idiot.

"I don't understand what you mean, _bambina_," her tutor replied perplexedly, gesturing to herself. "I'm perfectly fine."

"Your neck," Eve insisted weakly. The lighting had changed as Jada moved, and suddenly what Eve had seen before seemed to all but disappear. Maybe she had been wrong. "It looks like someone _bit_ you –"

Her tutor froze instantly and flushed a slow, deep red.

Valentine's black eyes widened a fraction, glimmering with humor and something else as he glanced down at Jada.

"Oh, dear," he muttered absently – almost to himself. A half-amused smirk curled his lips.

Eve watched, confused, as Jada's hands instantly flew to her throat – and speedily buttoned her blouse up to the collar, hiding the mark. And then she watched in even _more_ confusion as Jada shot a venomous, knife-sharp glare at Valentine.

His smile widened stunningly as she glowered at him – which seemed to infuriate her all the more: Jada looked ready to commit murder.

Eve just looked puzzled.

What in the world did _Valentine_ have to do with any of this?

They held each other's gazes for a moment, and then Valentine spoke.

"I'm sure you were just imagining things, Eve," he explained fluidly, after a pause. His smooth voice was cool and convincing; his eyes were still fixed intently on Jada. "Miss Buonavento seems to be in excellent health."

Jada frowned at him darkly, crossed her arms, and moodily sipped her coffee again. She looked like she wanted to smash her coffee cup upside Valentine's skull.

Eve scratched her blonde head innocently.

"But I was _sure_ that I saw–"

"_Eve_ –" Valentine interrupted. He had finally glanced her way, seeming far more entertained by this whole 'bite-mark' business than Jada was. He gestured to the cup in her hands. "Stop arguing and drink; if you don't finish that glass, I will refuse to take _any_ blood from you."

With a dejected pout, Eve raised the cup to her lips and swallowed the remnants of her orange juice.

"You're addressing me like I'm a five-year-old," Eve protested afterwards, delicately setting the cup down.

"That is because you are _overreacting_ like a five-year-old," Valentine countered. "You are treating the smallest mark like it is a fatal disease…"

"I'm not overreacting," Eve claimed. "And I never said anything about it being _fatal_…But… I don't know… maybe it's _contagious_…"

He smiled.

"Considering how she got it," Valentine mused under his breath – almost inaudibly. "I certainly hope so," He ran his eyes over Jada, looking pleased by the thought.

Her tutor's face paled, and she spat her mouthful of coffee inelegantly back into her cup. When her eyes met Valentine's again, she was glaring.

His smirk widened.

"Lie down and rest for a moment, Eve," Valentine continued, with an elegant wave to the narrow, infirmary bed, "I believe I need to have a word with Miss Buonavento in the hall."

Eve nodded compliantly. Her gaze followed Valentine and Jada as they both rose to their feet and slid noiselessly out of the room – Jada's stride stiff with fury, Valentine's smooth and graceful as ever – and then she set her empty glass on the little bedside table and lay down.

The mattress was comfortable; the sheets were soft against her arms and back. She glanced at the clock to her side, reading that it was 9 AM, but as soon as Eve's head had settled into the cozy pillow, her eyelids were instantly drooping. Her lack of sleep last night was finally catching up to her.

Drowsiness made her close her eyes, and before she could hear the door click closed behind Valentine and Jada, Eve had drifted helplessly into a deep, peaceful sleep.

* * *

><p>"<em>All'inferno con te, Valentino!<em>" Jada growled as soon as the door had shut.

She had stalked out of the room ahead of Valentine, her arms crossed broodingly over her chest. Anger soared through her veins like adrenaline. He shouldn't have said what he had said in front of Eve. She was the only innocent one in the Manor, it seemed – the only one who was blissfully unaware of what was going on between them. If she ever found out…

Jada's lips set into an icy frown as she spun around to glare into his face. "How many times do I have to tell you to –"

Her words were cut off.

Somehow, Valentine had slipped his arm around her waist while she was turning – and in an instant he had gathered her against his broad, strong chest and was kissing her.

Her body froze in surprise. It was not that she had never kissed Valentine Morgenstern before – no, she had done a _lot_ more scandalous things to him than _that_ – but the way that he had done it was so sudden…

Guilt unraveled in her chest like a ball of yarn as his lips pressed down on hers. A shudder of pleasure ran up her spine as her body gave in to him.

Perfect, she thought wretchedly. The kiss was absolutely perfect.

It was controlled, but full of emotion – sweet, but fascinatingly untamed. He knew exactly what to do, exactly where to go to make her body sing. And when he finally pulled away from her seconds later, the feel of his kiss lingered on the edges of her lips like poison.

Perfect.

"You look exhausted," he murmured. When her eyes fluttered open, she saw his black irises hovering less than an inch away from her. The sight made her tremble. "I can deal with Eve myself… It isn't necessary that you stay here. You could go and rest." His voice was low, deep, chocolate-smooth. Hearing him talk like that was driving Jada all kinds of crazy.

Her lips parted, ready to pour out a furious lecture about talking about their relationship in front of Eve, but the words stayed glued in her throat. She wondered if it had something to do with the way he had kissed her.

Jada nodded silently, feeling defeated.

"I'll go," she mumbled.

Hesitatingly, she drew her hands away from Valentine. Curiosity flashed in his impossibly dark eyes for a moment, but he watched without comment as she trailed her fingertips down his chest, traced them along his arms, and then ultimately left. She could tell that he had expected more of a challenge from her; it wasn't until she had made it halfway down the corridor that she finally heard the door softly close behind him.

Not wanting to, her body turned her around, and Jada glanced toward the source of the sound. The hallway was empty; Valentine was really gone.

She let out a sigh of relief and leaned for support against the marble wall beside her.

What was it about him that made her so weak? So vulnerable? What was it about him that so easily stripped away her emotional walls – cooled her anger, fueled her passion?

Jada didn't know what it was and she wasn't sure that she wanted to find out.

The less that she analyzed her feelings for Valentine Morgenstern, the better.

Sighing again, she turned to continue walking to her room – ready to have another tall, steaming cup of coffee before falling asleep – and then she stopped herself.

Her coffee cup.

She had forgotten it in the infirmary.

Fighting the urge to kick herself, Jada wheeled around and sauntered back to the infirmary doorway, sulking all the way about having to reclaim her cup. With any luck, Valentine would be miraculously in another room when she snuck in to get her cup – but Jada personally doubted it. Luck had rarely ever been on her side in her twenty-six years of living.

She took a deep breath, knocked, and entered the room as quickly as she could, hoping to dive for her cup before anyone caught her. Unfortunately, Valentine was the first thing that she saw when she surveyed the medical wing's drab, white-walled interior, and any hope that he was gone disappeared. He had pulled up a padded, wooden armchair next to Eve's bed and was watching the girl quietly, his expression almost serene. His dark eyes flicked to Jada for an instant, his lips turned up slightly at the corners, and then his gaze returned back to Eve.

Jada felt momentarily confused, and was about to ask what was going on, until she really got a good look at Eve.

Her pupil was fast asleep, one porcelain-pale hand absently lain across her chest, the other arm resting easily at her side. Eve's gentle curls fanned over her pillow like silky, flowing rivers of gold; her delicate, doll-like features remained tranquil and undisturbed as she dreamed. Sleep made Eve appear far younger than she really was, Jada noticed; it softened her pupil's pretty lips and cheekbones, making her look – for lack of a better term – like a little angel. Exactly like a little angel.

Jada watched in fascination as Eve's long, silvery eyelashes gently stirred as she slept, and she wondered precisely what it was that angels dreamed about.

Valentine regarded Eve fondly.

"Apparently, Jada," he said low, under his breath, "you weren't the only one who needed to rest."

Jada crossed her honey-bronze arms moodily. Her cup was less than an arm's reach away from her, sitting on the cabinet, but she didn't bother to pick it up.

"It isn't _my_ fault that you kept me up until four o'clock this morning," she muttered in the same, hushed tone.

He smirked at that. Memory darkly smoldered in his eyes.

"I don't remember hearing you complain about it at the time, Miss Buonavento," he noted.

"You wouldn't." Jada flicked her tumbled, raven hair over her shoulder and slid close behind him. "Your memory is suspiciously selective."

His smile widened a fraction.

Lightly, Valentine reached out his hand and passed his Rune-scarred fingertips tenderly over Eve's cheek, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her forehead. The touch was mild as the whisper of a feather, so insubstantial that Eve's breathing did not even falter at the subtle gesture.

That was an experienced touch, Jada thought. Something that Valentine had done many times before…

The idea of Valentine touching _her_ like that while she slept made Jada's knees inexplicably weak.

Smoothly, he drew his hand away from Eve.

"I always wanted a daughter," he stated simply. "Did you know that?"

His question hung in the air between them like a heavy, black curtain.

Jada tightened her jaw – not sure whether to feel touched by Valentine's love for Eve, or threatened by the fact that he was bringing up the topic of his children: children he'd had with somebody else.

"It was what my father wanted," he continued in a remote tone, "before my mother died: an older son, a younger daughter. It was what _I_ wanted –"

_Before Jocelyn left me…_

The words were as audible in the silence as if he had spoken them aloud.

He shook his head slightly.

"Eve was six years old when I brought her home to the Manor," Valentine went on. "Now she is a young woman; mere months from turning seventeen, less than two years from reaching full adulthood." Jada glided behind him, sliding her soft, manicured hands soothingly over his broad shoulders. He breathed in deeply. "I wonder where the years have gone."

Thoughtfully, Jada smiled. A minute ticked by before either of them spoke.

"Are you going to wake her?" she asked gently. "I know that you wanted to take her blood…"

"I am going to take her blood – that has not changed." His tone was low, final. "But she can remain sleeping throughout the duration of it."

Jada nodded.

She wanted to know how Valentine planned to not wake Eve up while he was taking her blood, but didn't pry. It was better not to ask Valentine questions if you didn't really want to know the answer.

Noiselessly, Jada drew away from him, took her coffee cup off the cabinet, and slipped out of the infirmary – heading directly for her bedroom.

* * *

><p><strong>How did you like the chapter? <strong>

**I'll admit there wasn't a lot of action this time, but I promise there will be more than enough angst next chapter to make up for it... :) ...I really like writing Valentine at the end... I personally always imagined him to have a soft spot for Eve. And it was nice to see him showing some feelings... **

**Next chapter will be the very... well... _emotional_ for Eve...**

**PS: In case you were wondering, Valentine hasn't taken the Mortal Cup yet, so doesn't know that Clary exists. His little daughter thing is actually justified...**

**PSS: If anyone has a question about Jada's Italian comments, just review with the question and I will answer... I just realized that I never explained her comments before... EEP! What a horrible author I am!**

**See you then,**

**Love, Fishie.**

* * *

><p><strong>Contestar a su pregunta Vanessa: Valentine Morgenstern es muy, MUY tradicional. Él no desea Eve y Jonathan hacer nada sucio antes del matrimonio... :)... Valentine sabía que Jace y Clarissa no se hermano y la hermana, por lo que no care que estaban en el amor… 3<strong>

**Ally: Eve's surname is not in there, so don't worry: you didn't miss it! :) The topic of her surname comes up later in the Morgenstern Girl as well as in Eden, and it is a big part of Eve's character development in the two stories, so I can't tell you her surname right now, but stay tuned! I'm a little confused about the second question you asked about who I portray Eve as, but I'll take a shot at it… If you want to know if there is a real-life person that I know who shares Eve's character or if there is another character in a book that I base her off of, then the answer would be no. She is a hundred percent my creation and a hundred percent fictional. (Although it would be pretty awesome to know Eve… She would be an amazingly loyal friend…) But if you want to know if there is someone who I think looks like Eve, physically, then I would say that there are a few people who I think kind of resemble how I picture her to be, but no one really exact. Maybe I'll post a few pictures on my profile for those who are interested… (If I ever do anything with my profile *cough,cough*)**


	19. Chapter 19: Transformation: Part One

**Hello Everyone!**

**Here is part one of the chapter that you have been waiting for!**

**I apologize for not including both parts of the chapter into one, but when I got to four thousand words at the end of this section, I decided to quit while I was ahead... Besides, this chapter splits up nicely... and I didn't want any poor readers to die in suspense!... :) Enjoy!**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS!**

* * *

><p><em>Everything was black.<em>

_Eve saw herself as if from a distance, turning around in a circle, trying to find something – anything – that was familiar to her within the flat, formless shadows surrounding her, but she found absolutely nothing. _

_Her golden hair seemed to be the only smear of color in the scene; her skin was unnaturally pale, as radiantly luminescent as the moon. Her clothes were dove-white as well, blending in with her bare arms and neck… Icy, pale clouds puffed from her mouth every time she exhaled, as if it was blisteringly cold, but Eve couldn't feel the temperature. She only felt urgency – only felt panic. Both were threatening to consume her like a ravenous tidal wave._

_She felt something gently brush the back of her arm._

_Eve spun around – quick as lightning, sucking in a sharp breath like she was about to scream –_

"_Calm down, Eve," a familiar voice soothed. "It's me."_

_He stepped into view like an oasis from the shadows, and relief washed over Eve like a lapping ocean tide. His tumbled, snow-white hair framed his sculpted features perfectly, making him look like an ancient marble statue of a young Greek god. Leathery, black Shadowhunter gear covered his body – a startling contrast to his fair skin and hair. Silvery Rune-scars flashed on his arms like metal wires whenever he moved. _

_He was the most beautiful thing that she had ever seen._

"_Jonathan," she sighed, running to him. As soon as she had reached him, he opened his arms and embraced her strongly. She melted gratefully into the hard, muscular contours of his body – into the dark, spicy smell of him. "Jonathan, I was so worried…"_

_He breathed in deeply, contentedly, his fingers tracing tender patterns on her back. Then suddenly, it seemed, he dropped his hands away from her and took a step back. His expression was almost rueful._

"_You're stupid to love me, Angel-girl," he stated, his eyes miserable._

_Instantly, Eve looked up in his face, studying his handsome features in confusion. "I don't understand what you mean," she began – and then gasped in horror._

_Dark, red blood was smeared over Jonathan's neck and chest, down his arms, staining everywhere that she had touched him like a scarlet cloth. The blood looked tinged with gold. _

_Eve scrambled backwards in dread, her blue eyes wide. _

_When she glanced down at herself, she saw that she was totally untainted – except for her hands. An inky, dried blackness covered her fingers and palms, clotting under her fingernails like dirt. It was a blackness that was far more unsettling than the hungry shadows that circled her; it was alien, dangerous._

_Then she glimpsed up again at Jonathan. _

_He had changed._

_Thick, black Runes covered his white skin now, but they were unlike any Runes that Eve had seen before. They pulsed darkly, moving along his bare skin with a purplish, sinister light. His hair was black too now – the color of a starless, winter midnight – and a blank, savage, look was gleaming in his black gaze. _

_Eve could see nothing in those eyes – no soul, no emotion. _

_They could not have really been Jonathan's._

_He tilted his head to one side, like a hunting falcon that had spied a field-mouse, wearing a thoughtful frown on his perfectly sculpted lips. _

"_You're stupid to love me," that beautiful mouth repeated coldly._

_She stretched her hand out to him – as if to hold him in her arms again – as if trying to reach him emotionally through physical touch. _

"_Jonathan," Eve pleaded. "Please don't do this…"_

_He pointed to her outstretched arm with a single, Rune-blackened finger._

"_I have to. We're enemies now, Angel-girl." His eyes flashed with lifeless knowledge as they scanned her. "Look."_

_Eve did._

_Her body was Marked with Runes now too, just like Jonathan. But her Runes were familiar – ones with clear meanings that whispered to her instinctively as she saw them. They blazed with a pure, golden radiance, fighting off the darkness as they slithered along her pale arms, curling and morphing into different glowing shapes and forms._

_Power thrummed where the Runes moved on her skin. Eve shook her blonde head in protest as she watched them, mesmerized. "This doesn't have to change anything," she urged Jonathan helplessly. "We can be as we were –"_

"_No. We can't." Something in the hostility of his tone made her look up. A violent spark lit his eyes. "This changes __everything__."_

_Fire suddenly blazed up from the shadows around her, turning the scene into a hellish, blazing inferno._

_Baring his teeth like a wild animal, Jonathan roared and viciously dove straight for her throat –_

_ ..._

Eve gasped sharply, bolting upright.

Her vision was slurred, dark, indistinct. Starbursts of grey distorted her sight. There was a dizzying nausea that gripped her stomach, and whatever she was resting on seemed to sway back and forth like a ship tossed on churning waves.

Her bones felt frail.

"Eve – _Eve_," a familiar, soft voice insisted. Seconds later, two gentle hands were pressing on her shoulders, coaxing her to softly lie down. Eve obeyed the mystery voice, partly out of true submission, and partly because she was too disorientated to do much of anything else.

"Hush, _uccello_," the speaker comforted in a low tone, and Eve suddenly realized who was talking. "It's alright. Everything is alright."

"Jada?" Eve asked, her voice bleary as she settled down. The surface beneath her was blessedly soft, molding to her body like a cushion of new spring grass.

Fingertips passed over her forehead affectionately. "Yes, it is me, _bambina_… Don't worry."

Eve blinked industriously, trying to rid the fog from her eyes. Jada's form materialized into sight as if she was passing through a curtain of water – her tutor was hovering over her, wearing fresh makeup and new clothes, Eve saw. There was a glittering string of diamonds that peeked out from underneath Jada's silky, Prussian-blue blouse. Her thick, rippling hair was perfect as it poured over her shoulders to her narrow waist.

Concern filled her lovely, brown eyes.

Behind her, Eve could see the roof of her familiar, scarlet canopy bed – framing her tutor like a blood-red tapestry.

_Her_ _bed_? Eve wondered… _Was she in her_ _bedroom_? _How had she gotten there?_

Her mouth felt as dry as paper as she swallowed and tried to speak. "I thought I was in the _infirmary_ –" Eve thought out loud.

Jada stroked her pupil's hand tenderly. "You were, _uccello_. But we moved you. It was better for you to be in here."

"Oh." Eve tried to glance at the clock on her bedside table, but Jada's beautiful form blocked her view. Another, dull wave of dizziness rushed over Eve when she tried to move her head. "What time is it?" she asked.

"Ten o'clock."

"In the _morning_?" Eve remembered falling asleep in the infirmary at nine. Had she really only slept one hour?

Smiling, Jada ran her hand over Eve's crimson, gold-trimmed coverlet. Eve hadn't even realized until then that she had been lying underneath a heavy blanket. Her body shivered with cold in spite of the thick comforter.

"Yes, in the morning," her tutor answered. Confusion must have passed over Eve's face, because an instant later, Jada chuckled quietly. "It has been twenty-four hours since you fell asleep in the medical wing, _bambina_," she clarified. "You slept all of yesterday."

"I _did_?" Eve echoed, her eyes wide.

She didn't know whether to be proud of herself or horrified. She could not remember the last time that she had even slept in past nine o'clock.

Her tutor smirked wryly.

"The sedatives probably helped a little bit, but yes. It's true." Jada dropped her gaze to her hands, thoughtfully. "A lot of blood was taken from you, _bambina_. You needed time to rest. Recuperate."

Well that explained the dizziness, Eve thought. She glanced down at her right arm and saw a small square of gauze dotting the inside of her elbow.

Something urgent pushed at Eve's cloudy mind like a songbird flitting in its cage. There was something that she needed to remember – something important…

Her dream came back to her in a flood.

Jonathan.

_Jonathan_.

Eve suddenly sat up in bed, the ruby covers falling around her hips. Vertigo and weakness came again, wafting around her like a muddling haze of smoke, but Eve fought them off.

"Jada," she demanded pointedly, her gaze locking suddenly with her tutor's. "Jada, where is Jonathan? He was supposed to be… It was supposed to happen this morning, wasn't it? He was supposed to be _changed."_

Her tutor exhaled softly, rising to her feet. There was a suspicious avoidance in her gaze as she fidgeted with her diamond necklace. "_Bambina_, I need you to try and realize that –"

A sound floated into Eve's hearing, just as Jada's voice wandered off – a sound that sent a shudder of bitter electricity flickering down her spine.

There was faint screaming coming from downstairs.

The sound of pure, unadulterated, agonized torture.

Eve's vision blurred again – with terror.

No, she tried to tell herself. Jonathan _never_ cried out in pain – _Never_. It couldn't be him…

But one look at Jada's dodging expression told Eve she was wrong.

It was Jonathan.

Her heart sank.

The noise was distant, but then, Eve's bedroom was on the westernmost part of the Manor's third floor. If Jonathan was on the ground floor perhaps, somewhere so far away that she wouldn't hear… Maybe somewhere close to the east wing, where the room was just far enough away that the noise wouldn't travel too much…

Like the infirmary.

_We moved you, uccello_, Jada had said. _It was better for you to be in here._

Eve's gold-flecked eyes widened with betrayal as she glanced at her tutor. Panic clenched her lungs, restricting her air. "Jada – He's started it already, hasn't he? Valentine is changing Jonathan –"

Guilt flashed across her lovely, honey-bronze features. She looked tormented. "_Uccello_, please –"

"He _is_!" Eve's voice escalated in panic. Her breathing came in shallow, erratic gasps. The image from her dream blazed like a bonfire in her mind: Jonathan all covered with black Runes, his hair black, his dark eyes as lifeless as a corpse's… What if that was happening to him now? What if…

Eve counted silently to twenty, but her anxiety only seemed to expand in the silence, like a sponge in water. "_Why?_" she cried wretchedly. "Why didn't Valentine _wake me?_"

In an instant, Jada slid to Eve's side. She reached out a hand, as if to touch Eve soothingly, but drew the hand back after a moment of thought.

"I'm sorry," she offered quietly. "_Bambina_, I am so sorry – Jonathan asked this morning if you could not be there when… when it happened. And Valentine thought it would be for the best, as well –"

The words were separate, plunging, sword-thrusts to Eve's heart. Her lungs seemed to shatter into dust.

"_He –_" whispered Eve in anguish, "he didn't _want me there?_"

Desperate sobs choked in her throat, and she couldn't control them, couldn't stop them from coming. Her white-knuckled hands knotted convulsively into fists, gripping her crimson bedspread with brutal force. "Why didn't –?"

"_Eve_." Jada's voice was gentle but firm. She cupped her pupil's face in her soft hands, forcing her to look at her. "Jonathan knew that this wouldn't be an easy procedure. He _knew_ that he would be in terrible amounts of pain; Valentine didn't try to disillusion him… The blood in Jonathan's veins is _warring_ against itself, _bambina_. He didn't want you to watch him suffer like that. Because he _cares_ about you…"

Wetness clouded Eve's vision, but she refused to let herself cry. She glared mournfully at her rigid fists. "I wanted to talk to him one more time before he – … Jada, I wanted to –" Her voice trailed thickly off into silence, and Eve shook her blonde head regretfully. She was biting her lip forcefully, but to her, it felt like the only thing keeping her from bursting into tears. "I should _never_ have asked Valentine to do this… Something is wrong, Jada. Something is _wrong_. I _feel_ it."

"Jonathan would have done it whether you gave your consent or not, _uccello_. Don't blame yourself," her tutor stated. "You didn't see him when walked into the infirmary this morning. He _wanted_ this chance of being healed, Eve. He was willing to _die_ for it." Jada locked her gaze intensely with her pupil's – trying, it seemed, to make her understand. "I've never seen Jonathan look so at peace, _bambina_… Never. Not in the eight years that I've known him."

The words were only a small comfort for Eve.

Jonathan's tortured screams drifted faintly into her ears like bitter incense.

She shuddered.

"I can hear him downstairs," Eve whispered, her voice cracking. "He's in pain, Jada. He's screaming."

Jada looked at her in alarm. Her tutor strained for a moment, it seemed, but could not hear what Eve was hearing.

"Ah, yes," Jada muttered then, realizing. Relaxation seemed to settle over her body. "You have stronger senses." She gazed over Eve for a long moment. Sympathy took over her expression. "Move over, _uccello_," she requested gently, waving an elegant hand.

Eve did it without understanding.

To her surprise, Jada next kicked off her high heels and slid smoothly into bed beside her. The new weight shifted the mattress, but it didn't bother Eve in the slightest. She stared in utter disbelief as Jada spread out beside her; sitting against Eve's cluster of pillows, her long, flawless legs stretched in front of her. There was compassion in Jada's expression when she turned her stunning face to Eve.

"Here, _bambina_," her tutor purred softly, opening her arms.

Eve was shocked at first, but the surprise was short lived; she was unutterably grateful to lean into her tutor's soft, inviting shoulder – to let Jada wrap her slender arms around her and comfortingly fuss with her blonde hair. A strange cocktail of drowsiness and panic mingled in Eve's head – probably from the sedatives, she thought; Eve fought both the urge to close her eyes and drift into sleep, and the urge to spring out of bed and try to go find Jonathan.

The recognizable, feminine, pretty scent of Jada calmed her like a lullaby.

"It's alright," her tutor murmured affectionately. Dry-eyed, Eve buried her face in the crook of Jada's neck. "Don't worry yourself, _uccello_… Things will turn out for the best, in the end… They always do."

Silence filled the room as Jada reassuringly stroked Eve's back. Nothing could have comforted her more.

"Jada?" Eve asked absently, trying to get her mind off of Jonathan. Her head was thick from sleepiness, blurring her thoughts. "Have you ever thought about having children?"

If her tutor was taken aback by the question, she didn't show it. A slow smile curved her lips. "I thought about it, yes, once upon a time," she coolly replied. "Though, I'll admit that the dream has faded over the years… Why?"

"I don't know…" Eve shrugged. "I just think that you would make a good mother."

Jada appeared sincerely touched. "Thank you, _bambina_."

There was another lasting, calm moment where Eve just sat there with Jada, feeling the solace of her motherly warmth – and then something that she heard made her heart stop dead in her chest.

Or rather, something that she _didn't_ hear.

"Jada." Eve gently drew away from her tutor. Dread buzzed in her blood like venom. "Jada, it stopped."

"What stopped?"

"The screaming. Jonathan stopped screaming." She looked anxiously into Jada's face, trying to find answers where there were none. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

A fierce concentration passed over Jada's features, along with a hint of unease.

"Constance," she called to Eve's sitting-room. The maid appeared in the doorway immediately. "Bring Eve something to eat. I need to have a discussion with Mr. Morgenstern."

The maid disappeared as quickly as she had come, with an obedient: "Yes, Miss Jada."

Her tutor's expression was determined as she glanced down at Eve. "Stay here, _bambina_." she urged. "I will be back as soon as I can."

Lightly detaching herself, Jada slid off the bed and slipped on her high heels. Eve immediately missed her warmth; wishing that she could go with Jada and talk to Valentine, but unable to disobey. Shivers trailed down her arms.

With a flick of her perfect, raven hair and an encouraging smile, Jada exited the room, leaving Eve alone.

* * *

><p>It only took a few minutes for Jada to walk down to the ground floor and sneak her way towards the infirmary, but to her, the time seemed to last much longer. There was truth in what Eve had said. The pale, marble corridors were eerily quiet as Jada navigated through them, and the silence made her journey stretch out odiously.<p>

When the infirmary finally came in sight, the first thing that caught Jada's eye was not the room, or even the mahogany doorway itself. It was Valentine, leaning tiredly against the marble wall outside of it, looking drained. Strain was obvious in his tight lines of his neck and shoulders, although anyone who did not know him very well probably could not have detected it. He was a master at keeping his emotions hidden – even from himself.

But Jada had known him long enough to see past all that.

"_Valentine_," she breathed in relief, grateful that nothing had happened to him.

He glanced toward her as she spoke, almost as if he had just noticed her – and it made her apprehensive. Her stilettos had echoed through the corridor with every step; if he had only noticed her coming just _then_, he must have been very deep in thought – and she was always uncertain whether Valentine _thinking deeply _was a good thing or not.

Perfect control set over his handsome features, veiling any secret that may have lain hidden when he looked at her. The only thing Jada could detect from his expression was a profound, heavy sort of exhaustion.

"Jada." His smooth voice was neutral, impassive. "I thought you were with Eve."

There was a lack of emotion in his eyes and voice which frightened her. He had never spoken to her so guardedly before. Arms crossed, Jada flicked her hair back with nonchalant elegance.

"Eve is awake," she explained, to-the-point. "She woke up a few minutes ago and heard what was going on down here. She was hoping that I could bring her some news about Jonathan."

Valentine's jaw tightened. He cast a single, dark glance at the infirmary door, as if he half-expected someone to be lurking on the other side of it, listening. "He is barely conscious, Jada," he told her in an impossibly low voice. There was something very close to anxiety in his fluid-silver tone, though it was buried beneath many layers of carefully protected composure. "It's a medical miracle that he did not die in the middle of that procedure. The stress that his body was under was… inconceivable."

"He is a Morgenstern," Jada answered simply. "He is strong, Valentine." She toyed with her diamond necklace restlessly before adding: "How is he now?"

"Covered in bruises, but far from the fear of death." Valentine raked a hand through his moon-pale hair. "A number of his blood vessels ruptured as Eve's blood warred through him – nothing that a strong _iratze_ cannot fix, admittedly." Jada took a step closer to him, finding strange comfort in his commanding presence. "And as for his 'condition,' I have not tested him thoroughly yet. And he is hardly well enough to judge from his _behavior_ if the demon blood has left his system…"

Uneasily, Jada changed the position of her crossed arms. "So what should I tell Eve?"

"The truth." Stiff finality echoed in his voice. "Tell her that Jonathan is recovering, and that no conclusive tests have been done yet to confirm his condition."

"But she will want to see him," Jada put in, glancing at her designer high-heels. "And I doubt that I will be able to stop her."

Valentine was silent for a moment.

"I would say that my word is enough to keep her at bay – but I cannot be sure of that. Not anymore." There was wistfulness like a jagged thorn in his voice. "Not when it comes to Jonathan: I have never seen Eve more determined, more _defiant_, than when Jonathan is put at risk. I cannot decide whether to reward her for her loyalty to my son or punish her for her insolence towards me…" Absently, Valentine took a step in the direction of the infirmary. "Tell Eve that Jonathan is in serious but stable condition, and that it would be detrimental for him to see any visitors before I will it. Keep her occupied, if nothing else. She is fond of you."

Jada agreed with a wordless nod, ready to turn around and march back to Eve's room – but Valentine stopped her.

"Jada?" he added. A strange curiosity tinged his voice, making her turn around instinctively. His features remained curious, vulnerable, for a second longer, and then control took him over again. His sculpted, pale lips parted then closed – as if he had intended to say something but had decided against it. "I will finish the tests as soon as possible," he finished stiffly.

Unfortunately, Jada saw right through his lie.

When he gave her the truth, there were always a few indications that showed if he was being honest – his black eyes flashed with emotion when he told truth, for one thing, and his gaze wasn't so clear and steady when he was sincere. But his eyes had not flashed as he turned and slipped into the infirmary… And there was something about how he went… something so restricted and strained that Jada didn't stop him or try to press him to answer her truthfully…

But why would he want to postpone the examination? she wondered, Wouldn't he want to find out if his son was alright? –

And then the answer hit her like a toppling brick wall.

Valentine did not want to see the results of Jonathan's test... because he expected to find the worst possible result.

Valentine did not expect Jonathan to be healed.

* * *

><p><strong>So... What do you think?<strong>

**I left you with a bit of a cliffhanger at the end, and I apologize for that... (*lie*)**

**Please review and tell me what the outcome of Jonathan should be... I have a plan but I am still undecided... **

**See you in part two!**

**Love, Fishie.**


	20. Chapter 20: Transformation: Part Two

**Hello everyone! **

**Here is the Chapter you all have been waiting for! (*Trumpet sounds*)**

**I will let you know as a warning that I was an emotional wreck by the end of writing this chapter. So now that you've been warned... On with the story!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Mortal Instruments!**

* * *

><p>"Miss Eve, please," the maid begged. "You really ought to lie back down and eat something…" Constance was sitting in an armchair by Eve's fireplace restlessly, fidgeting with her knotted fingers. "It won't do you any good to walk around here like this… You don't look well…"<p>

Eve barely heard her.

She was pacing the length of her crimson and gold furnished bedroom, waiting for the slightest hint of Jada's footsteps approaching from the hall. Nothing that the maid said or did seemed to really register in her mind: Since Jada had left her, the cold realities of the situation sunk into Eve like autumn frost, and hysteria had bubbled to her mind's surface like boiling, black ink.

Jonathan's current condition, as far as Eve could tell, was a gamble between three possibilities:

One, the demon blood had left his system and he was healed.

Two, the demon blood had consumed him beyond saving, and the Jonathan that she had known was gone forever.

Or three, he was hopelessly, irrevocably dead.

Eve shuddered at any thought but the first.

Random memories of Jonathan tumbled through her mind like a dropped stack of photographs – the first time she had met him as a child, the first time she had trained with him, her first Mark, their first kiss –… Things that had seemed so monumental before had become eclipsed by this day, by this morning… Her thoughts refused to focus anywhere else.

"Miss Eve –" the maid insisted again.

Eve spun around and faced the girl with every ounce of high-strung anxiety that she felt. It was bad enough, in her mind, that she had been peacefully asleep when Jonathan's transformation began. She would not rest herself until the whole business was over, and that was absolute. This was Jonathan on the line, after all.

It was _Jonathan_.

"I don't _want_ to _eat_, Constance," Eve snapped crossly, her nerves feeling stretched. "There is nothing in heaven or earth that could make me lie down and rest now. Stop _pestering_ _me_!"

The maid recoiled from the scolding with a look of alarm. Eve was sure that she had never reprimanded one of the staff before, and the thought of her being harsh toward the maid filled her with a nameless twist of shame. But her mind was quickly distracted from the topic.

Her sitting-room door swung open behind her, and Eve let out a sigh of relief as she turned and met Jada's beautiful, perfect, bronzed, form. Questions instantly poured from Eve's mouth in a flood.

"Jada," she appealed worriedly as her tutor closed the bedroom door. Eve hurried over to her tutor and put a hand on her arm resolutely. "How is he – How is Jonathan? Is he alright? What is his condition, now?"

Jada smiled sarcastically, rolling her brown eyes. "Yes, I'm feeling well, Eve… Thank you for showing such _heartfelt_ concern."

"_Jada_," Eve groaned at her tutor, her eyes desperately pleading. "Don't joke around. This is serious… How is _Jonathan_?"

To Eve's horror, her tutor didn't reply; but softly chuckled instead.

"Ah, _bambina_…" Jada reminisced slowly. "This is like… – Do you remember that scene in Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet_, where Juliet sends the Nurse out to go find information on Romeo? And when she comes back, the Nurse –"

"Could you _stop_ changing the subject?" Eve cried. She threw her hands in the air, exasperated. "I have been pacing here for an eternity, waiting for you to return! You could at least be _somewhat_ helpful!"

Her tutor sighed. Light caught at her flawless black hair as se tossed it over her shoulder, making it shimmer.

"Jonathan is alive, _uccello_, but still not well," Jada answered in a more somber voice. "The procedure took a massive toll on his body. Valentine has not yet determined his final condition."

"He's alive?" she echoed. The thought was like heaven to Eve's ears.

She could handle almost anything as long as Jonathan was alive.

Adrenaline buzzed in her veins like hot, burning electricity.

"I have to see him, Jada," she insisted, trying to step around her tutor. "Where is he exactly? The infirmary?"

Jada's hand shot out with surprising speed, barring Eve from going anywhere. Faint, almost imperceptible Rune-scars covered her tutor's forearm, and Eve was reminded that although her tutor had never demonstrated her power before, she was still a Shadowhunter – still very strong.

"You will do no such thing," Jada ordered, her tone unremitting. "Jonathan is in serous condition, Eve. Seeing you will only make things worse for him."

Eve turned immediately defensive. "That isn't _fair_," she claimed, her blue eyes wide. "It…It's _cruel_! …How can you expect me to stay here and wait while he _suffers_?"

"It is hardly cruel, _bambina_. It is only for a short time…"

"The time doesn't _matter_!" she countered, her voice rising in pitch as she became more and more desperate. Her mind clicked away industriously, trying to find some way to convince Jada… "What if it was Argyle?" Eve finally asked, naming the man that Jada had spoken of before. "What if it was _him_ downstairs? What would _you_ do, Jada?"

Hurt flashed across her tutor's perfectly controlled features – like a single stutter in a beautiful voice. Her chocolate-brown gaze flicked hastily at the few maids in the room, who were eyeing her with a skeptical sort of curiosity. Something very close to panic raced in her tutor's eyes.

"I have no idea what you are talking about, _bambina_," Jada replied fluidly, "and it doesn't matter to me either way: You aren't seeing Jonathan until Valentine wills it, and that is final."

Eve was about to protest, wondering how Jada could have so suspiciously forgotten about the man she had claimed to love so much – but then she was interrupted.

There was a knock at the door.

Jada stubbornly held Eve's gaze for a moment longer, and then spun around and opened the door with a sharp, impatient gesture.

"What is it?" she snapped at whoever was in the doorway.

Looking past her tutor, Eve saw a small, distinctly feminine figure in the corridor, wearing the familiar, simple dress of one of the maids. "It's Mr. Morgenstern –" the girl stuttered. "He's requested to see Miss Eve in the infirmary…"

Eve's heart skipped a single, painful beat. Every fiber of her being urged her to duck around her tutor and the maid and race to the medical wing, but her natural sense of obedience kept her hanging there by a thread. Her blood boiled as Jada turned around and looked at her – astonishment written all over her face. Apparently she had not expected word from Valentine so soon.

"We'll go," her tutor said, gracefully moving out of the doorway. Her entire posture seemed a bit hesitant, as if this quick answer may have been a bad sign. "Come, _uccello_," she urged.

Eve went, using all the will-power in her mental arsenal to stop herself from breaking into a frantic sprint. The maid glanced at Eve quickly as she walked out of the room – and the other girl's expression chilled Eve to the bone – making her nerves twang like over-tightened violin strings: It was a pitiful, almost apologetic expression that the girl gave her; as if to warn Eve against what was coming.

Eve tried to ignore that look as she and Jada made their way to the infirmary.

Her tutor muttered something under her breath while they walked about Valentine and 'never telling her anything,' but Eve wasn't really interested:

_Jonathan is alive_, she kept telling herself anxiously, trying to get rid of her fear, chewing nervously on her lip. _That is all that matters: He's alive. He's alive. He's alive. _

For whatever reason, it didn't really come as a comfort to her anymore.

The maid's expression had been stamped into her memory – like a forewarning beacon.

Within a few quick minutes, they had descended the foyer's massive marble staircase, turned into one of the adjoining corridors, watching as the infirmary door came into sight. A few maids trailed out of the room, carrying neatly-folded white sheets in their arms – but instead of looking Eve in the eye or offering her a friendly smile like they normally did; the maids turned their faces away when they saw her and hurried past.

It shocked Eve, making her body freeze.

Whether their expressions were from remorse or pity, Eve did not know. She only knew that it broke her heart, watching them retreat, and feeling her hopes of Jonathan of being cured wasting away with every stabbing, apologetic look.

Jada's beautiful face was stony and blank when Eve looked up at her. Her tutor had seen the looks too, Eve assumed, although she seemed less surprised by them.

When she glanced at the infirmary again, her hands began to shake.

It wasn't possible, Eve told herself.

Jonathan _could_ _not_ be worse.

The procedure _could_ _not_ have ruined him.

The demonic blood _could_ _not_ have won.

It… just wasn't possible.

Knees trembling, and heart thudding like a lifeless metronome in her chest, Eve realized that she had only been lying to herself.

It had _always_ been a possibility that Jonathan's demonic blood would win out.

It had _always_ been a possibility that his good nature would be completely destroyed in the process.

She just hadn't wanted to admit it.

They slowed to a stop in front of the infirmary. The polished mahogany door felt more like a judgment to Eve than a doorway. Her lips had begun trembling now, and although she wanted to say something, anything to Jada, she did not trust her voice to come out evenly. Heavy silence filled the corridor.

"_Bambina_," Jada whispered, putting a tender hand on Eve's shoulder. "No matter what happened with Jonathan, you… mustn't blame yourself… You only wanted to heal him, _uccello_… The choice was made out of _love_…"

Eve nodded without agreeing, her eyes filling with tears.

This was all her fault.

All of it.

She was spared hearing more comforting words from Jada when a tall, broad-shouldered, imposing figure appeared gracefully out of the doorway – one who happened to be wearing an expensive, black suit.

Immediately, she knew it was Valentine, but Eve couldn't look into his face – knowing what expression she would find there.

She kept her eyes glued desperately to his black tie.

"Eve," instructed Valentine. His smooth voice was blank, devoid of compassion or emotion. It hit her like a blow to the stomach. "Go inside. Jonathan is waiting for you."

Without a word, Eve wheeled hurriedly into the doorway, knowing that if she waited any longer she would have indefinitely burst into tears. And she knew better than to ever, EVER, cry in front of Valentine.

"_Bambina_," Jada objected kindly, moving to follow as the infirmary door swung closed behind Eve.

But Eve would never see how Valentine gently put a hand on Jada's arm, then, after she had gone into the infirmary – to keep her from trailing after her pupil.

And Eve would never see Valentine's smile of victorious triumph as Jada glanced up at him.

* * *

><p>The first thing that Eve noticed as she walked into the infirmary was the last thing that she had expected.<p>

Laughter rang out through the all-white room – a sound as musical and liberated and majestic as eagles soaring free through the heavens. It felt wrong, Eve thought, for someone to be laughing while Jonathan was in here somewhere, suffering. Sunlight poured through the tall, rectangular line of windows, bathing the room with its warm, golden radiance.

Eve's eyes were drawn instinctively to the source of the noise, and she took a few apprehensive steps into the gleaming, bright medical wing, scanning around. The sound seemed to be coming from someone lying in the last of the plain, white-sheeted row of beds in the distance… Not that Eve could really see who it was. Many maids had circled around the bed in the far corner, with their backs to Eve, and chattering animatedly amongst themselves. From the distance, Eve tried to peer through the milling group, to see who they were interested in, exactly, and praying it was who she hoped it was. Suddenly, one of the maids shifted her posture, and Eve was given a view of the person in the infirmary bed.

It was Jonathan.

His handsome, marble-pale face was illuminated by the sunshine coming in from outside, and his white hair glowed like a halo of summer clouds. Snow-colored blankets were heaped on him like a small mountain, in a way that might have made Eve giggle amusedly, if the circumstances had been any different. His features had seemed to have softened in a perceptible way, she thought, since the last time she had seen him; and it made him look younger, more angelic. A smile clung to his perfect, sculpted lips, though it was unlike any smile that Eve had ever seen him wear before. There was no spite, no mischief, no malice in that grin. There was only purest, sincerest joy.

Eve was awed.

"Enough, _enough_, Mary," Jonathan chuckled good-naturedly, addressing a maid. The female staff members bustled around him casually, pretending to be working without being very convincing about it – straightening a sheet here, absently sweeping a square of floor there… None of them seemed to be doing anything really significant, Eve noticed instantly – unless you counted gawking shamelessly at their handsome, young master as 'significant.'

The mound of blankets on Jonathan trembled as he laughed. "If you put any more blankets on me, I'm going to overheat… I don't really need it, Mary; I feel perfectly fine…"

The ring of girls around him giggled shamelessly, blushing like little girls, but Eve was too shocked to feel jealous in any real way. She chewed her lip and tightened her fists anxiously, taking another tiny step into the room.

"Jonathan?" she asked weakly, feeling conflicted.

Her voice was small and mouse-like – barely audible, she thought, in the massively high ceilings of the infirmary – but somehow, they all heard her. The maids turned simultaneously, with matching expressions of surprise and embarrassment.

Eve didn't see them.

She only saw the look on Jonathan's face as her turned his head to look at her. His expression was unreadable at first – a strange combination of uncertainty and amazement… Then his face lit up warmly, in a way that completely took her breath away.

"Eve," Jonathan greeted enthusiastically. "Eve, you came."

She would never forget the way that he said her name in that moment. He looked pleased, even _eager_ to see her. With an animated glint in his black eyes, he slid his hand weakly across the bed, inviting her to draw near.

Eve's eyes welled up with tears.

She could see nothing demonic in him.

"Of course," she breathed. Her fingers ached to tangle themselves in his hand, but Eve was hesitant to go near him – afraid that if she touched him, it might wake her from this dream. "Of course I came, Jonathan."

His smile widened then. A thoughtful look passed over his features as he studied her face. It felt to Eve like he was looking inside her, reading the deepest recesses of her soul.

"Mary?" he addressed then, finally prying his gaze away from Eve's. To her joy, it seemed like it had taken him a lot of effort to glance away from her. "Could you and the others leave us, please? …I would like to speak with Miss Eve." Jonathan's black eyes returned to hers and he smiled. Eve's mouth went instantly dry; her tears threatened to overflow. "Privately," he added wryly, to the unwilling group of maids.

There was an answering murmur of disapproval from the slave-girls, though in the end they were obedient. The cluster of females dispersed one-by-one, shooting jealous looks at Eve as they went, but Eve couldn't look away from Jonathan long enough to watch the maids go.

She couldn't look away from him at all.

The room became nothing more than a blurred, mismatch of color as Eve slowly marched over to Jonathan. Her previous desires to run to him seemed to wither away in his presence, seemed so totally ridiculous now that he was locked in her sight. It was a challenge for Eve to simply put one foot in front of the other to _walk _to him, much less to run. Her legs felt like they might have given out bonelessly at any moment, though the way that Jonathan's dark eyes lingered on her as she neared wasn't making her legs feel any steadier.

When she finally reached Jonathan's bedside, Eve dropped into the padded armchair beside him and gazed fixedly into his dark eyes. They were gentler, somehow – his irises had lightened, it seemed – turning them a shadowy, charcoal grey – and bruiseish circles had formed under his eyes.

He looked exhausted.

But perhaps his eye-color and his exhaustion weren't quite all of the change, Eve thought. She could tell that something more profound than the shade of Jonathan's eyes had altered. There was something so tender in them now that it made Eve's body weak.

The door closed softly behind the maids; and trying to control herself, Eve glanced at her lap.

Silence stretched for what felt like hours in the big room.

"It worked," Jonathan finally said in a low voice. Eve looked up at him as soon as he said it, not feeling ashamed of her brimming, tear-filled eyes. She couldn't feel ashamed of anything in his presence now. His kind gaze fastened intently on her, without judgment. "My father did all the tests… He says that I'm cured."

A quiet noise escaped from Eve's chest, then – a relieved, genuine sob.

Suddenly, her pent-up tears spilled down her cheeks.

Slowly, unabashedly, Eve dropped her head down and buried her face in Jonathan's chest. He tensed a bit, for the smallest fraction of a second, and then his body relaxed with a gentle sigh. She felt his hand slide feebly from the bed to her hair, his fingers stroking her curls with silent assurance, comforting her as she wept.

All of Eve's fear, anxiety, doubt, guilt, and shame flowed out of her.

Jonathan was healed.

* * *

><p><strong>So, did you like the ending?<strong>

**I felt like Jonathan seems a bit too nice at the end, but maybe that's just me. Don't worry, he gets more Jonathan-like in the upcoming chapter, but I was so relieved to see him healed!**

**I'm almost done the next chapter of Eden too, for those of you who follow that story, so alot of good stuff coming up!**

**I'll see you next chapter, **

**Love, Fishie.**


	21. Chapter 21: Persuasion

**Hello ****Everyone!**

**Whew... Alright. **

**First off, I want to say a BIG thank you to all of you who review my chapters. I appreciate every single comment... You guys honestly are the most amazing readers. Secondly, as a lot of people were wondering...**

***YES, THIS STORY FOLLOWS THE TRUE PLOT-LINE OF CITY OF BONES, CITY OF ASHES, AND CITY OF GLASS.***

**On that note, I don't think it is a spoiler to say that by the end of this story Jonathan will consumed by his demon-blood and that he becomes evil beyond saving, because that is what happens in the books - and yes, it is true that Valentine and Jonathan will die in the end, as well...**

**The question is: How will we get there?... Hmmm...**

**PS: I know the first part of this chapter seems a bit random, but it plays a role in next chapter, so stay with me folks!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Mortal Instruments!**

* * *

><p>Jada sighed blissfully, peering through the slightly-open infirmary door.<p>

Jonathan and Eve were leaning near to each other on the farthest side of the winter-colored room, their heads bent closely in conversation. Every so often, he or she would smile joyfully as the other spoke, and then shyly look at their entangled hands. Eve appeared enchanted; like she had just woken up from a wonderful dream. Jonathan gazed at her as if she was as vital to him as the sun, looking unutterably relieved to see her.

The tutor watched them for a moment longer and then chuckled lightly to herself. She had to admit, Jonathan and Eve made for an adorable-looking couple.

Flicking back her shadowy hair, Jada turned around on her heels in the maidless corridor, smiling with pleasure. Valentine was standing directly behind her like a shadow – lounging against the cool marble wall beside the infirmary door, his powerful arms crossed broodingly over his broad chest. Light hit his pale face at just the right angle, catching in his ice-white hair, flooding his handsome, striking features with a luminescent glow. There was a distant look in his black eyes as he watched her, and Jada could tell that he was deeply immersed in thought.

She stepped closer to him, looking up at his face through her thick eyelashes.

"Eve is happy," Jada commented quietly, trying to draw him out of his reverie. "Jonathan is healed… You must be very pleased with yourself, Valentine."

He frowned, his dark eyes studying hers.

"I will be pleased when Jonathan regains his strength," he countered moodily in his low, velvet-smooth voice. "My primary concern is that Jonathan will loose the agility and power that the demonic blood gave him; and that, of course, would be a disaster – I need him to be strong and well-equipped for the battle ahead of us… But even if Jonathan _does_ regain his strength, there will still be obstacles to face; I must ensure that he is _fully_ cured… because if even the _slightest_ trace of demonic nature remains in his veins, Jonathan's condition may still possibly worsen again, over time." He raked a hand through his pale hair, looking sullen. "…And then there is always the risk that Jonathan's body might have some sort of negative _reaction_ to this process, later on – The side-effects of the procedure may prove to be more deadly than if I had just let his demonic nature take its course – And then there is the chance that –"

"_Valentine_," Jada cut in firmly. "Enough."

She slid close to him and snuck her fingers underneath his wrists, gently unfolding his arms. He inspected her carefully as she glided her fingertips up his chest as eased her body close to his, and something new started to flicker in Valentine's black gaze – something that burned hotter than whatever anxiety he was feeling.

"Complaining doesn't suit you," she continued at a whisper, smirking. "Your son is healed, even if it _is_ just for now… and you granted Eve's wish, like you had promised her…" Jada peeked up at him wickedly. "This day ought to be an occasion for _celebrating_…"

"Celebrating?" Despite himself, it seemed, Valentine's lips curled up slightly at the corners. "And how, precisely, Jada, were you planning on celebrating this?"

Jada slipped her slender, bronzed arms around his neck. "I hadn't really thought that far ahead, yet," she mused elegantly, her fingers toying with his perfectly pressed collar. "Eve's classes should be over by six, and then I have to finish adjusting her next few lesson plans afterwards, considering how much of her studies that she has missed… But once I'm done _that_…" Jada shrugged her shoulders gracefully, widening her beautiful smile. "…I will be free to celebrate for the rest of the evening." She took a thoughtful pause, studying his handsome features. "Perhaps we can open a nice bottle of wine in that charming little parlor upstairs; the one in the west wing?"

He glanced at her, seeming entertained.

"The one that happens to be right beside my bedroom?" Valentine continued.

She grinned at him.

"That would be the one," answered Jada smoothly.

He smirked, his eyes running appreciatively down her form, and then, all at once, he seemed to catch himself. To Jada's bewilderment, his smile slowly faded, and Valentine gradually turned his face away from her. He then reached up and took her by the wrists, gently disentangling her arms from his neck.

Jada felt slightly hurt.

"I can't," Valentine said in a low voice, not looking at her. "I have little over one _week_ to make plans to retrieve the Mortal Cup in New York… And after all that has happened with Jonathan…" He looked at her then, his gaze level and steady. "I need to work, Jada – without having any… distractions."

A touch of anxiety clenched Jada's chest: After all this talk about him returning to his wife, Jocelyn… and now he was turning her away so easily…

Jada set her jaw.

"How much work do you have to do?" she inquired neutrally, keeping her tone level.

Valentine sighed.

"I have twelve hours of paperwork to finish by the end of today, as a minimum," he replied unenthusiastically. "And there will be plenty more to follow, which I expect to begin on tonight, as well… Not to mention how many meetings and conferences will have to be arranged… As soon as I obtain the Mortal Cup, the Sword and Glass will inevitably fall quickly after – Everything needs to be deliberated –"

Without warning or invitation, Jada rose up on her toes and kissed Valentine's lips – interrupting his phrase.

It caught him off-guard; she could tell. His body froze for an instant – an instant that Jada detected with sharp, painful anxiety – and then his hand slid up to cup her face. His muscles unwound. His mouth softened.

Jada pulled away from the kiss first, a minute later, just in time to see Valentine's gaze blazing with an intense, momentary flickering of longing.

She coyly glanced at her toes.

"You had better get started on your paperwork, then," she purred in a somber voice, her finger tracing circles on his chest. Her gaze found its way to his face. "I'll meet you in your office by eight," continued Jada. "If I was you, I would make sure all your paperwork for tonight is finished by then."

His eyes flashed like black diamonds – with desire.

He knew exactly what she had meant by those words.

Valentine's darkened expression was the last thing Jada saw before turning around in the hallway and shouldering open the infirmary door.

* * *

><p>"I was so worried," Eve whispered unsteadily, shaking her blonde head at Jonathan.<p>

Jonathan acknowledged to her statement by nodding softly, saying nothing at all.

Eve had gotten her breathing under control a while ago, and Jonathan hadn't yet attempted to ask the reason for why she had been crying. He had just contented himself by quietly being with her, talking to her every so often – and besides, Eve had a sneaking suspicion that he already understood why she had been crying… It had been a difficult last few days for the both of them.

Nevertheless, warm tears still threatened to roll down Eve's cheeks – even as she sat next to the safe, healed, perfect Jonathan.

Eve thought it was hopelessly bizarre: Why in the world should she feel like crying? She had never felt happier in her entire life. As if to prove herself right, Eve glanced down at her hand serenely – and smiled.

Her fingers were knotted in Jonathan's casually, the way they had been for the last five minutes or so – her hand resting comfortably in his hand. His palm felt warm against hers, soothing her like a melody that hummed throughout her body… It was an openly affectionate gesture that she had never experienced with a boy before – and certainly never with _him_…

The feeling it gave her was euphoric.

Occasionally, Jonathan would pass his thumb over the soft skin of her knuckles, sending shivers skittering down her spine each time. He had stopped the loving motion about a minute ago, but at the sound of her worried voice, Jonathan had begun stroking her hand all over again.

Eve trembled, thinking about what might have happened if Jonathan had not been healed during Valentine's process – thinking about how different this reunion could have been.

Distracted, she studied the shape of his downcast, black eyes, marveling at how gentle his handsome features had become. He almost looked like a different person… But in a moment, though, his dark gaze flicked up to meet hers, as if he had sensed her watching him. His silvery eyelashes cast soft shadows over his high cheekbones, making him look very much like a marble sculpture.

The sight made her smile.

"How are you feeling, Jonathan?" Eve asked quietly, flicking her loose, golden curls away from her face.

A beautiful, tired grin twisted the corner of his lips, and Eve's stomach twisted, as well.

"Mentally or physically?" Jonathan offered, his eyes wandering over the lines of her cheekbones and jaw. Eve felt her pulse sky-rocket as he did it, and she desperately hoped that Jonathan couldn't feel the thudding of her blood through the veins in her hand. She started to gnaw on her bottom lip.

"Start with physically, first," Eve suggested as evenly as she could.

Jonathan sighed.

He eased back into his mound of snowy pillows, staring at the ceiling, but didn't make any attempt to pull his hand away.

"Physically," he explained matter-of-factly, "I feel like an Iblis demon slashed open my chest, carved out my insides, ground them apart with its teeth, and spat them unceremoniously back into my body." Eve's face paled, horrified at the thought. Jonathan broke into a grin, "Other than that," he added insouciantly. "I'm feeling terrific."

"_Jonathan_," she groaned with a smile. Desperately, Eve tried to stop herself from giggling – and failed halfway through his name. Her happiness seemed to bubble up randomly; without any will of her own. "Don't play around… This isn't funny… You could have been seriously hurt, this morning."

His smile softened to a gentle fondness as he gazed at her, but his diamond-black eyes were glinting wickedly.

"If it wasn't funny, Eve," he teased, "then you wouldn't be laughing." Chuckling to himself, Jonathan played with her pale, slender fingers. She fought the urge to giggle again. "My _father_ wasn't as amused as you were when I gave him that explanation," he confessed in a low, scheming voice.

Eve laughed out loud.

"I can't imagine that he would have been," she replied. "What did Valentine say?"

"Nothing." Jonathan turned his head to her, his expression entertained. Sunlight lit his hair to a pale glow. "Father just scowled and let the maids torture me with their pointless gossiping and their over-excessive use of blankets and pillows… Speaking of which –" He shifted restlessly in his blanket-heaped bed. "Could you take some of these sheets off of me, Eve? I would have done it already by now, but I…"

Silence hung for a moment as his voice suspiciously trailed off, but in an instant, Eve had leaned over and was obediently peeling away the first three layers of bedcovers from Jonathan. If he hadn't pried about her crying, then she wouldn't pry about _his_ problems either, she decided. When the sheets came away, she caught a glimpse of what Jonathan was wearing – a loose, white, formal shirt that had been unbuttoned down as far as Eve could see. His perfect pale chest showed through, laced with a map of silvery scars.

Eve looked away, blushing mildly. Her mouth felt suddenly dry at the sight of his skin.

It was nice to know her attraction for him hadn't faded.

"Could you not move them because –… Are… Are you in pain?" she asked reasonably, settling back down in her chair. Her eyes glued themselves safely to his beautiful face, avoiding anywhere lower than his collarbone.

He blinked at her. "No. The pain really isn't that bad, now," Jonathan assured her dismissively. "I just feel… weak… Father tells me that my strength should return within the next few days, but until then…" Slightly, Jonathan shrugged his shoulders. "I am sorely out of commission."

"And… how are you feeling _mentally_?" Eve asked.

"Better than before," he answered in a low voice. His eyes quietly avoided hers. "It's… better now that you're here, Eve. All I've wanted since I woke up was to see you." Rewrapping his long-boned fingers in hers, Jonathan glanced up into her eyes, searching for something. "You have a way… of settling my mind, Eve."

A wealth of pleasant emotions welled up in Eve's chest at the sound of Jonathan's words – love, anticipation, gratitude, nervousness – and they must have all shown on her face, because in the next instant, Jonathan gently smiled at her and started stroking her knuckles again, dropping his gaze.

"But don't worry. Even if you weren't any good at settling my mind, I would still keep you around…" he explained offhandedly. "You make much better company than the maids do… They babble way too much – and none of them are _nearly_ as pretty to look at as you are."

Eve smiled wryly, sensing his sarcasm. She rolled her eyes and dropped her cheek down to rest on their enfolded hands, taking a deep, happy breath. "I'm glad I can be of some use to you, Jonathan," she muttered teasingly.

He grinned.

"Was that a trace of _sarcasm_ in your voice?" he wondered mockingly, tugging affectionately on one of her blonde curls. "I don't know whether I should be proud of you or be worried –"

"Be worried," a new voice cut in.

Automatically, Eve raised her cheek from her and Jonathan's hands, looking at the source of the new voice… And then she paled when she saw who it was.

Jada had slid gracefully into the room, her black high-heels tapping with every elegant stride. Sunlight caught at her raven hair and bronze skin, making her glow like an immaculate statue of Venus as she strode towards them. Her arms were crossed over her hourglass torso, her expression light and humored.

Eve immediately tried to draw her hand out of Jonathan's fingers, but his grip tightened gently on her hand, silently asking her to stay. She glanced at him. Concentration had settled over Jonathan's features; his dark eyes had intently focused on Jada, as if judging her level of threat. Somehow, Eve couldn't say no to him, and she kept her pale hand resting exactly where it was.

"Well," Jada remarked sarcastically as she neared, glancing pointedly at their obviously entangled fingers. "You two seem to be getting along nicely."

Blood rushed to Eve's face, turning it several shades of red as she looked away.

Jonathan just coolly smirked. Apparently, he didn't feel self-conscious in Jada's presence at all, and Eve didn't know whether that was a good thing or not.

"Would you prefer that we were fighting, Jada?" he asked gamely, raising a snowy eyebrow in the tutor's direction.

Eve was stunned to realize that this was the first time she had ever heard Jada and Jonathan speak to each other; Jonathan had never been tutored by Jada, and he'd never had to acknowledge her presence at the Manor in any real way… Eve wondered if they had even really met before.

Her tutor chuckled quietly. The diamond necklace around her tanned throat shimmered like a sting of stars.

"I do not think you really _care_ what I think either way, Jonathan Morgenstern. I don't suppose you ever have." The somber words were spoken with a lovely, pleasant smile. Eve was a bit shocked at the little pinch of bitterness in her tutor's voice. "I came here to collect Eve, actually," Jada added firmly. She aimed a conspiring, amused wink at her pupil. "She really does have _studies_ to attend to, shockingly enough: studies which she regrettably has been neglecting this past week."

Jonathan's dark eyes widened a bit.

"Eve is leaving already?" He glanced at Eve pleadingly, then back to Jada. "But who will be here to nurse me back to _health_?" he inquired dramatically.

Eve smiled at his mocking tone.

"Mary and the group of maids will gladly tend to your every need, I'm sure, Jonathan," Jada answered with a wry smile. "I imagine they are all in the foyer now, fighting over who gets to coddle you first."

Jonathan's nose wrinkled in disgust.

Eve thought she could see the old Jonathan in that gesture.

"But wouldn't it make things much simpler if only _one_ person looked after me?" he wondered persuasively. Smoothly, he glanced over at Eve, his expression playful. "Eve is perfectly capable to care for me, and she would be _more_ than happy to tend to my needs while my poor, debilitated body heals, wouldn't you, Eve?"

Eve had to giggle.

Sighing, Jada rolled her brown eyes.

"I suppose you'd like it if she undressed you and helped you bathe as well, Mr. Morgenstern?" she retorted.

Jonathan grinned deviously, in a way that lit up his whole face.

"Those were _your_ words, not mine, Miss Buonavento," he clarified, not denying the fact either. With the grin of a wicked angel, Jonathan turned his face to Eve. "Although I'll admit," he added devilishly, "a very slow, _encouraging_ back massage would be greatly appreciated every so often, Eve."

Redness rushed to Eve's cheeks in a wave.

"I'll make sure to pass the information on to Mary and the other maids," Jada answered shortly, beckoning with a perfectly manicured hand. "Come along, _uccello_. We have one afternoon to cover at least _three_ lesson's worth of Clave history. I'm sure you are eager to get started."

Eve softly groaned forgetting Jonathan's prior comment, although he was the only one who seemed to hear it.

"Well, you certainly know how to make a convincing argument, Jada," Jonathan retorted dryly. "Using history lessons as leverage is an _excellent_ power of persuasion."

Jada frowned dejectedly.

"Don't sound so sure of yourself, Jonathan Morgenstern," Jada pouted. "I can be very convincing when I want to be."

His black eyes glittered knowingly.

"Oh, yes, I undoubtedly believe _that_," he agreed with humor. "I know it is because of your… _persuasive_ abilities," he murmured, "that my father is in his office, right now, filling out paperwork like a madman."

Jada's face paled alarmingly, like a sheet of white descending over her gorgeous, sun-kissed features.

_Paperwork?_

Blinking, Eve glanced back and forth between Jonathan's grin and her tutor's astonished expression, feeling supremely confused. Obviously, she had missed something. Valentine was always doing paperwork in his office. What was so special about it _now_?

Jada shot an alarmed look at Eve, and then seemed to relax when she saw puzzlement written all over her pupil's face. In the end, she didn't really reply to the claim, but Jada's pretty, full lips twitched angrily, nevertheless.

"I liked you better when you didn't speak to me," Jada growled viciously, glaring at Jonathan.

The young Morgenstern grinned like a statue of Lucifer.

"You liked me _at all_?" he wondered, his face a mask of shock. "Oh, dear… Could this 'I'm-coming-to-take-Eve-away' outburst all simply be because you're _attracted_ to me, Jada?"

"Don't be obscene," the tutor flung at him, fuming at the thought. "You are _nine_ _years_ younger than I am. It would be disgusting."

"– There are thirteen years of age difference between you and your _current_ love interest, Miss Buonavento," he pondered mischievously. "It really isn't much of a stretch, if you think about it."

With a little gasp, Eve's blue, gold-studded eyes began to dazzle.

Jonathan knew who Jada's _lover_ was? It seemed a little unfair that Jonathan should know before she did, when he and Jada weren't even close… but she couldn't bring herself to care. All she wanted to know was who he was – and why Jada had never said anything about him to her before.

Jada's reaction to Jonathan's comment reminded Eve when she had gone into the Manor's kitchen once as a small child – and had seen a red-hot kettle boiling over wrathfully on the stove. Jada looked like an enraged goddess of war – one who was about to unleash the fullest potential of her power.

"_Bambina_," Jada growled in a disturbingly calm voice, her cheeks flushed red with fury. "Come _along_… We are leaving: _NOW_!"

Eve gave Jonathan a steady, reproving look. He let her slide her hand away without a complaint, a mischievous smile still teasing his lips. It wasn't until her fingertips had left his palm that she realized how cold it was in the infirmary.

"Come back and see me," Jonathan requested of her in a low voice, "the next time you have a break."

Sincerity was flashing deeply in his eyes, despite his teasing. Eve passed her fingertips tenderly over his forehead, brushing back some of his fair, tumbled hair. His face was absolutely beautiful. A face that belonged to royalty.

"You didn't need to ask," she murmured honestly. "I'll be here."

With an imperious sniff, Jada spun around and stormed to the door, her abundant, black hair bouncing with every, furious step. She threw her hands up irritably, cussing all the while in Italian about Jonathan being 'his father's son' and that she 'should have left with her brother while she had the chance.'

After one last, lingering look at Jonathan, Eve reluctantly followed Jada out the door – and was almost run over by a waiting, ecstatic group of maids as soon as she entered the hallway outside. The horde of females whispered and bustled like a ravenous pack of wolves, and let out a girlish squeal as soon as Eve and Jada had opened the infirmary door and they could see Jonathan. Pure venom coursed through the dark glare that Jada fired at the crowd of them – but they didn't seem to notice.

Their minds appeared to be fixed on other things.

"Oh, Mr. Morgenstern!" they all cooed adoringly, rushing into the infirmary. Eve blinked in utter shock as the flock of girls stampeded past her. They jostled her thoughtlessly, and if Valentine had seen them do it, the maids would have all gotten skinned alive; the omnipotent Mr. Morgenstern had absolutely _no_ tolerance for insolent staff. As it was, Eve could only gape at the girls in shock. They had never done anything like that before. "Your blankets seem to have fallen off!" they called. "Here, let us fix it for you!"

"No, let _me_ fix them!" came the answering cries.

"No, let _me_!"

Giggling shamelessly, the cluster of girls poured into the infirmary, and slammed the mahogany door shut decisively behind them, not thinking twice about their two mistresses. For a long moment, Eve just stood there, catching her breath in the silent corridor. Jada even looked startled, she thought.

But, of course, it was her tutor who recovered first.

Jada sniffed again and crossed her bronze arms, regaining her angered composure.

"He's _just_ like his father," she grumbled once more, before elegantly spinning around and continuing on her way down the endless marble corridor.

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><p><strong>What did you think?<strong>

**I love "new-and-improved" Jonathan... His soft side shows through in the next few chapters, stay tuned, but I adore his snarky attitude for right now!... My goal when I write Jonathan is to try and write Valentine when he was young, and then put a develish twist to his outward behaviour and sweeten his internal behaviour... It's kind of a strange thought, but I'm hoping I do OK with it...**

**Next chapter we get to see an old character come back! (MUAHAHA!) Someone from waaaaaaaaay back in The Morgenstern Girl. I can promise an epic cat-fight next chapter... It will be good.**

**PS: What would you guess the proper rating for this story to be?... I'm undecided...**

**Anyway, see you next chapter.**

**Love, Fishie.**


	22. Chapter 22: Old Ghosts

**Hello everybody! Sorry that this chapter took so long! **

**As you can see, this happens to be a very long chapter... and I hope you will be a bit patient with me as you read it... it may not seem really related to The Morgenstern Girl story-line as of now, but for those of you who read Eden, this conflict will be coming up soon in the story... It is probably the second-biggest conflict in the story Eden, other than, obviously, Jonathan Morgenstern as you saw last Eden chapter.**

**Anyway... On with the chapter!**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS!**

* * *

><p>With one last stroke of his pen, Valentine completed his elegant signature on yet <em>another<em> document, placed it on the rigorously organized stack to his left, and got to work on signing the next page's waiting dotted line.

Paperwork had always been a tedious responsibility for him – one that he avoided as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

Like his father before him, Valentine Morgenstern had always preferred more _exciting_ courses of action than office bureaucracy when it came to achieving his goals – but of course, it did not improve the Circle leader's gloomy mood to think that so many vital decisions and planning needed to be completed in less than _two weeks_… Or that _all_ of them happened to require a mountain of form-filling...

He was in a race against time, after all.

As soon as Jocelyn discovered that he was searching for her, he fully expected her to flee New York City, taking the Mortal Cup with her.

He knew he would only have one opportunity to obtain the Cup. One.

If he failed, he knew that there may never be another chance.

So, with a morose frown, Valentine dropped his gaze and continued to race through his office duties.

Presently, the paperwork enterprise had taken up all of his afternoon, and, (through an incredible act of will), Valentine had only allowed himself a short recess during that time of study-room drudgery, where he had gone to inspect Jonathan's condition in the infirmary, had been satisfied with what he had seen, and had returned to his office directly after.

But despite his aversion to paperwork, Valentine supposed that the time in his office had served him well.

So far, he had secured the use of Blackwell's Island (_Roosevelt Island_ as the mundanes called it, although the land had belonged to the children of the Nephilim long before it had ever fallen to mundane hands); had organized the troops he would use to create his army; and had already established which warlocks would be used for the summoning of demons, Portalling, and the like… Of course, he reminded himself, using Downworlders was normally avoided at all costs, but there were a few warlocks Valentine knew of who had faithfully sacrificed for the Circle's cause before…

A few warlocks that Valentine could stop loathing enough to not _kill_ immediately.

Impetuously, he glanced to his grandfather clock in the corner of the room. The gilded hour and minute hands flashed dully as they navigated around the clock's golden face. It was quarter to eight.

With a smile, Mr. Morgenstern leaned over his mahogany desk and raised his pen.

Jada would be arriving within the next fifteen minutes. And only one neat pile of papers remained.

The documents that were currently spread across his desk were of the mundane sort. Valentine was finalizing the purchase of a ship, at the moment – one which he'd already decided to place on New York's East River later on. The large body of water would disrupt any tracking spells that the Clave may decide to pursue in the future… And it made for a very clever, but very temporary alternative plan in case any of his devices did not run as smoothly as he planned them to. The Clave's acceptance for the degenerate races may have polluted their judgment, but Valentine refused to be deluded by his goals. The Clave would only be fooled by his warded ship for so long; he knew the attempt would be ultimately unsuccessful.

Passing his pen across the paper, two words materialized elegantly across the bottom of the page in thin, black strokes – _V. Mourier_: his mundane alias.

The name was actually a little joke of Jada's.

_She_ had begun his first mundane affairs – getting him involved in various investments which had accrued an impressive amount of money over the years – creating a fake identity for him while he maintained dealings with the mundane world… V. Mourier was complete with an arsenal of fake passports, bank accounts, and legal paperwork to validate him – and Jada had explained to him later that the surname was a mockery of the French verb _mourir_ – translated in English as '_to_ _kill'_.

Valentine had taken the news with an elegant smile and a tall glass of scotch, at the time.

There were worse things to be consecrated to, he supposed.

Completing his signature, Valentine added the page to a growing stack of filled-out documents at his left and replaced it with a new, unsigned one, ready to continue his cycle of office procedure from the last ten hours –

But he was blessedly, unexpectedly, interrupted.

A knock suddenly sounded at the door, and Valentine raised his black gaze suspiciously.

It was too early to be Jada coming to his office… but no other possibility seemed to logically come to mind… He had not expected anyone except for her tonight.

He smiled at her apparent lack of patience.

"Come in," he answered.

Tentatively, a neatly-dressed maid – _not_ Jada – opened the door, and regarded him with a look of apologetic urgency. He could not help but feel slightly disappointed.

"Forgive me for the interruption, Mr. Morgenstern," the girl began with a polite curtsy. "But I'm afraid there is a visitor here to see you."

"A _visitor_?" Valentine raised an eyebrow at her slightly and frowned. If it was Jada who was waiting for him, the maid would have told him so outright – which meant that this mysterious visitor _wasn't_ Jada, which, in turn, meant that someone had come to the Manor without consulting _him_ in the matter.

Valentine could not remember authorizing that. No visitors were scheduled to come to the Manor until late tomorrow afternoon… And above all that, the Manor was heavily warded – even against Nephilim – so it was unnerving that this unexpected visitor had known _how_ to come there at all…

The ticking grandfather clock in the corner drew his gaze like a beacon: It was seven fifty, now – and within the next ten minutes, Jada would be strolling into his office, ready and waiting. There was no time for visitors.

With a set of his jaw, Valentine turned his attention back towards the expectant maid.

"Send whoever it is away," he commanded in his low, bass-smooth voice. "I am preoccupied, and I will be for the rest of the evening. Surely their business is not direly important."

The maid paled. "But, sir," she stammered. "I… I'm not sure it can wait –"

"What do you mean, it _can't_ _wait_?" Valentine inquired with quiet, menacing delicacy. Without meaning to, his black eyes sharpened. "Who in the world, _is_ it?"

Suddenly, a tall figure savagely pushed its way past the startled maid and into his office, sparing the servant-girl from replying. Presumably, Valentine thought, _this_ was the visitor that the maid had been talking about...

Irritation passed over Valentine's cold features, like a flicker of lightening that turned his face to stone – After all, who _dared_ come to _his_ Manor and enter _his_ office without his permission? – But then he finally recognized who it was standing in his mahogany doorway, and he reigned in his fuming expression.

The person in his doorway was a woman.

A _familiar_ woman.

Her delicate, wintery limbs peeked out from her velvet, bottle-green dress – her figure narrow and shapeless in spite of the skilled tailoring of the garment. Flaming red curls poured like a river of fire from her head to her hips, impatience written all over the woman's recognizable face. Valentine could see that her jade-colored eyes had narrowed with her impatience.

She was beautiful, he supposed – but then, she had always been a remarkably beautiful woman; with features as stunning as a mosaic of cut glass. Cold and incisive.

Men had always naturally fallen at her feet.

With a bit of a gasp, her expression fawningly brightened as she saw him.

"My Lord _Valentine_," she greeted indulgently, addressing him with her typical, obnoxious adoration.

The eldest Morgenstern smiled without pleasure as the woman neared him. She glided towards his desk with her hand outstretched, and faking a smile, he forced himself to take her fingers and plant a short kiss on her knuckles.

Valentine's mind mulled over the million different places that he would have rather been in that moment – but he knew his efforts were futile. He remembered all too well that she was a single-minded and ruthlessly determined woman; she would not leave the Manor until her business with him was completed.

Quickly, Valentine dropped her slender hand and gracefully gestured for her to take a seat in the padded armchair front of him. The sight of her sitting there, gazing up at him with those green eyes – where Eve had sat so many times before – filled him with morbid amusement.

His pale lips curled with humor.

"Hello, Minerva," Valentine coolly greeted.

* * *

><p>Jada glided on her way down the corridor, smiling with satisfaction.<p>

Today, everything seemed to be going perfectly.

Jonathan had been healed that morning, which was a miracle in itself; Eve had finished her lessons earlier than expected (though only out of haste to visit Jonathan, Jada was sure); and that extra bit of time had given Jada a chance to get ready for her last and final high note of the day – which would be spent with the very attractive, very charming Mr. Morgenstern…

What could possibly go wrong?

Happily, Jada raised her hand and started toying with the shimmering, bejeweled string around her bronze neck. The necklace she wore was a beautiful piece, all impeccably-cut diamonds set into pure, white gold... It had been a gift from Valentine many years ago, and she happened to be wearing the entire, expensive set that evening… The brilliant earrings and glittery bracelet included.

Jada's lovely smirk widened at the thought, and her heels tapped rhythmically as she strode down the vacant corridor. Everything she was wearing, in fact, had been a gift from Valentine – from her jewelry, to her gorgeous, tiny black dress, to her designer high heels – and Jada supposed that it was better that way.

It always pleased Valentine to see her enjoying the things he bought her.

Of course, Jada usually claimed indifference to whatever he gave her – to show him that she couldn't be swayed by the pretty, luxurious things that he offered her, to show him that she cared more about his _affection_ than his _checkbook_… – but Jada was always secretly glad, always secretly pulling whatever gift it was from her closet later, when no one else was around, to admire it once more.

Not that she was shallow – oh no, she was _far_ from that.

In all honesty, it was not the _price_ _tag_ of Valentine's gifts that won her over – She had been raised in poverty for most of her life, so she'd never learned to be proud of wealth… And Jada really didn't suppose that it was his _thoughtfulness_ that appealed to her either, considering that the value of Valentine's presents did not even _skim_ the numbers in his bank accounts, no matter how expensive the purchase was…

But perhaps it was the beauty of everything he gave. Maybe what she loved was the _beauty _of it all… And she really couldn't blame herself for liking _that_...

Things of beauty weren't something that she had encountered much of in her twenty-six years of living… She had been starving for them, in a way…

Shaking her head, Jada tried to clear her restless mind – while still being careful to not disturb her glossy, flawlessly-smooth, black hair in the process.

As an after thought, she supposed that she hadn't actually arranged her hair in any specific _way_ that evening – so theoretically, that there really wasn't much to _disturb_ – but still, a woman's dignity was not something to trifle with. Her hair fell dark and loose, tumbling in rippling waves to her waist like it normally did… lovely in spite of its simplicity…

She ran her fingers edgily through that shadowy hair.

Jada did not want to ruin her good luck. She needed to look perfect tonight. _Things_ needed to be perfect tonight.

This was going to be a _special_ evening, after all.

Slowly, Valentine's majestic office door came into Jada's line of sight – reminding her exactly _why_ this night was going to be so special – and she smoothed down her black dress with a short sigh. For whatever reason, she was feeling suddenly nervous.

Unwelcome and sudden, the memory of her younger brother resurfaced – his voice echoing in her mind, darkening her mood, telling her that being with Valentine like this was wrong – but Jada shoved the thoughts away violently.

Her brother had been misguided by Circle gossip and blinded by his pride when he had come to her – and he would have _had_ to be, to think that Valentine would betray her.

No, Valentine would never leave her – and certainly not for Jocelyn.

Theo had been wrong.

Elegantly, Jada crossed the corridor, knocked once, and opened Valentine's study-room door without waiting for him to reply or invite her in –

And then Jada's jaw dropped.

The office was as it normally was, when she glanced inside – from the polished mahogany bookshelves and furniture, to the curved floor-to ceiling window against one wall, to the dark, matching paneling on the walls... But something wasn't normal.

Valentine was there, but he wasn't alone – oh, no – not alone by a _long_ shot.

Mr. Morgenstern may have been sitting at his mahogany desk, but there was a narrow, feminine figure sitting in front of him: one with brilliantly flaming red hair, like a smear of fresh blood in the room.

Being the overseer of the household, Jada knew for a _fact_ that they didn't have _any_ red-haired maids.

She had made sure of that for obvious reasons.

Shocked, she could only watch as Valentine smiled at the woman – and stared mutely as the woman giggled back at him like a girlish twit.

Jada's anger flared.

She could only think of one red-head that would want to be seeing Valentine – or that Valentine would want to see in return.

The one that he had foolishly married so many years ago.

Rage swelled and burst in Jada's chest like a shattered floodgate, turning her cheekbones a vicious shade of crimson red, balling her manicured hands into violent fists. She sucked in a breath, her tongue feeling like a whip that was about to snap and belt out at him with its full force…

But suddenly, Valentine raised his black gaze away from the other woman to look at her –and something about his expression made her hold in her torrent of obscenities.

Wrath must have shown all over Jada's face like a warning.

For the first time she could ever remember, Valentine Morgenstern looked sincerely afraid for his life.

They locked gazes for a long moment, she and him, and the time seemed to explain to Valentine exactly what was going on in her mind.

"Jada –" he choked, his eyes widening.

Another first, she thought with cruel interest – The first time that she had ever heard Valentine say a word gracelessly.

His panicked gaze flicked from Jada to the red-head in front of him.

He knew he had been caught.

And that woman was the blood on his hands.

"Minerva," the Circle leader began again, more smoothly this time, "it seems there is someone here that –"

_Minerva?_

Jada frowned at the unfamiliar name, her anger barely placated.

_Who the hell was Minerva?_

The woman giggled at him again – but this time, she leaned across his desk and flirtingly passed her hand over Valentine's neatly folded ones.

Jada wanted to smack her.

"Surely, it isn't so important that we need to be interrupted, Mr. Morgenstern," she cooed naïvely. "You can send this slave-girl away just like the last one –"

_Slave-girl?_

_**SLAVE**__-girl?_

At the words, Valentine paled and shot Jada a look of absolute dread – knowing that nothing in heaven or hell could hold Jada back from what she was about to do.

"_**What did you just call me**_?" Jada growled menacingly at the mystery woman.

She was slave to no one – certainly not to that gargoyle of a woman!

She was Jada Buonavento, after all – an independent, educated, powerful, _attractive_ woman!

_**That woman's words meant **__**war**__**.**_

Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Valentine cringe. He opened his mouth to speak – but was cut off by his female guest.

"How _dare_ you question me!" the woman cried, spinning around in her seat.

Jada finally got a good look at her as the woman turned around in a flurry of scarlet curls: Her expression was haughty and rude, her pale features beautiful, but sharp and narrow in a fierce model-like way. She was closer to Valentine's own age than Jada's – but unlike Valentine, the woman had not aged gracefully. A few, telltale signs of the years showed around her jade-colored eyes.

Jada had to fight to not laugh when she saw the woman – _Minerva_ – catch sight of her.

Her jaw sagged open, her green eyes popped wide, taking in Jada's tiny, thigh-length, black dress and tanned skin and glittering diamonds as if they were as venomous as snakes. For added effect, Jada crossed her bare, sun-kissed arms and flicked back her glossy hair with a pout.

The woman looked, for lack of a better term, totally flabbergasted.

"Do – do you know who you are _speaking to_?" the woman continued loftily, sputtering a bit at the beginning. She glanced at Jada's long, bronzed, (and mostly exposed) legs as if they might have been photo-shopped into being. She puffed herself up like a chicken, trying to match Jada's luxurious, hourglass curves – and failed. Unfortunately for her, the woman had a figure that was as flat and shapeless as a piece of parchment paper. "Are you going to let her talk to me this way, Mr. Morgenstern?" she cried.

Mr. Morgenstern, who hadn't been paying attention to Minerva, said nothing.

He had finally seemed to register Jada's little costume while Minerva ranted, and was appreciating the outfit – or lack thereof – with hungry, single-minded focus.

Minerva looked deflated.

"I'm not sure that you know with whom you are speaking _either_," Jada countered coolly, feeling encouraged by Valentine's silence. She looked into his deep-set black eyes, feeling her chest tighten with the passion that she saw there.

"_Ho pensato che si stava finendo alcune pratiche burocratiche, Valentino_," she growled, strutting into the room.

He smiled – a bit ruefully.

"_Ero_," he told Jada effortlessly. "_C'era un'interruzione_."

In spite of her anger, Jada had to smile at his flawless Italian… It was a romantic language as it was, but to hear it coming from Valentine's smooth, deep voice was pure, linguistic poetry.

Jada slid across the room and over to him, perching herself on one of his thick, mahogany chair-arms. Just to be cruel, she let him slip his hand to the small of her back and smiled – and the Minerva-woman looked incensed by the gesture.

It did not surprise Jada, really. Guessing from her earlier behavior, the woman had _obvious_ feelings for Valentine…

But, then, that was not an unusual thing.

After all, it was common among the Circle women to be attracted to Valentine – in fact, it was more normal that not, so it did not bother Jada, generally – but this Minerva girl had not come there as 'just some Circle woman.' She had come there purposefully, and Jada refused to let _any_ woman – Circle member or not – come storming into her house and try to take her man from her.

Some women, she reminded herself, needed to be put in their place.

Jada cuddled into Valentine's side, smiling like a bad angel.

"_Valentino_," she purred. She was glaring at Minerva, sounding a bit deadly, "Perhaps you should explain why this _woman_ is here."

Minerva crossed her arms stubbornly and scowled.

A tolerant smile – one that concealed barely-hidden loathing – curled Valentine's lips. "Minerva, this is Miss Jada Buonavento – Eve's tutor of eight years," he explained shortly. "And Jada, this is Minerva Riversend – Eve's mother."

Jada gaped at him.

_Eve's __mother__?_

_This woman was Eve's __**MOTHER**__?_

Jada squinted into the face on the other side of the desk, trying to find some similarities to her pupil when there were none. Where Eve was all delicate and golden like a porcelain doll, this woman was modelesque sharpness and cold eyes.

Jada saw nothing of Eve in her.

With a sniff, she scanned Minerva once more and turned her gaze to Valentine.

"Eve must get her womanly curves from her _father's_ side of the family, then," Jada commented with a barbed smile.

Minerva's eyes flashed and sharpened viciously – like a cat's.

Valentine gave Jada a chiding look – telling her to behave – although she saw some humor concealed in his dark gaze.

"Eve favors her father," was all he said, fighting against a smile. "And as for Minerva being here, I was about to ask the same thing…"

His voice trailed off, inviting Minerva to explain, but the woman shot him an icy glare and pouted.

"I don't want _her_ to be here," she sulked regally. "I came here to speak with you in _private_, Lord Valentine."

Valentine glanced up at Jada, questioningly. He looked like he was unsuccessfully trying to juggle acid – hoping that Jada might give in to Minerva's demands.

Jada glowered right back at him.

_Kick me out of this room_, Jada's chocolate-brown eyes threatened. _And you can kiss your sex-life good-bye._

Valentine frowned for a moment, seeming to understand Jada's terms.

"Whatever you have to say to me, Minerva, it can be said in front of Miss Buonavento," he finally said, prying his eyes away. Jada smiled in victory. "There is nothing about your daughter's situation that I haven't already discussed with her… Are you here to visit Eve, or is it for some other matter?"

Fury flicked across Minerva's handsome face, but it died out quickly. She knew she had been beaten in Valentine's game of priorities.

"I'm not here to see my daughter," she snapped quietly. "I'm here on important matters of _business_."

She thrilled the word _business_ as if it should have been impressive to Valentine. On the other hand, Mr. Morgenstern looked supremely bored, glancing every so often to his clock. "And what business must you discuss with me?" he asked.

For a long minute, Minerva was silent, trying to organize her thoughts. "If you recall, you gave a large sum of money to my husband and me when you collected Eve from us ten years ago, Mr. Morgenstern... And I need it."

The topic was not something foreign to Jada. Valentine had given the Riversends generous compensation when Eve came into his custody – a number that fell, Jada was sure, in the seven-digit mark.

Valentine was suddenly pulled from his boredom, looking peeved as he stared at Minerva. "And I gave you that money in full," he told her slowly.

"Yes, you did. Of course you were true to your word, Lord Valentine..." The woman fiddled with her long fingers squeamishly. "But it… is in an account I cannot access… I need you to take it out for me."

Narrowing his black eyes, Valentine studied her face. "And why do _I_ need to take it out? Why can _you_ not access it?"

The redhead put on a martyred look, like an actress on a stage. "The night before my husband, Emile, committed suicide," she began mournfully, "he put the money you gave us into a special account, one I couldn't access… The Clave assumed the story we had given them was true – that my pregnancy had not come to term and that we had no daughter to speak of – but Emile had specified in his will that he wanted to keep that money in that account until _our daughter_ could collect it herself... I argued with the Clave that Emile was flawed in his judgement at the time he put that money away... But you know the rules, Lord Valentine... A man's will is a legally binding document. The Clave is required to respect the wishes of the dead…" She batted her long, red eyelashes at Valentine. "But then I found a loop-hole," she continued. "_Y__ou_ put that money into the account in the first place, Mr. Morgenstern - under an alias, of course. But because of that, legally, you can take the money out of the account and give it directly to me. Problem solved."

To Jada's surprise, Valentine chuckled to himself.

"_Ah, Emile... One last act of defiance toward your wife_," Valentine muttered under his breath. And then: "What do you need my money for, Minerva?" he wondered in a louder voice. "Your husband hailed from one of the wealthiest Shadowhunter families in Nephilim history… His portion of the inheritance _alone_ must have been enough to sustain you opulently for the rest of your life…"

"I spent it all," she answered with a simple shrug.

Valentine froze cold. His body tightened visibly at the sound of her words.

"Pardon _me_?" he asked.

"I said I _spent_ it."

Valentine made a momentary, choking noise.

"That's impossible." He tightened his skeptical glare, but something told Jada that he was worried. "You would have had to spend an _outrageous_ amount of money – even over a time like ten years –"

She didn't reply.

He stared.

Her silence was answer enough.

Jada didn't even _want_ to hear how Minerva had spent her husband's _entire_ fortune. She already felt nauseous at the woman's presence.

"What about the family heirloom jewelry?" Valentine demanded. "The tapestries, the clothing –"

Minerva shrugged again. "I already sold most of it. To pay off some debts."

Jada quietly gasped in horror.

Even Valentine seemed shocked as she said it.

It was one thing to spend family money – money could be replaced – but the family heirlooms… they were priceless. Some dated back hundreds and hundreds of years.

"You _sold_ it?" Valentine echoed. He sounded incredulous. "You sold_ the Riversend family jewelry?_"

"Yes, and I got good amount of money for it too… but it doesn't really matter. It's gone," she replied with an airy wave of her hand. "I didn't want any of it anyway…"

Fury turned Valentine's face into stone. And Jada had a good idea why.

"That wasn't just _your_ inheritance, Minerva," she hissed furiously, her hands balling into fists.

Minerva looked injured by the judgment. "Oh, and whose was it?" she countered.

"Your _daughter's!"_ Jada cut in wrathfully, letting her anger boil over. _"Eve's!"_

Eve.

Eve who had never harmed anyone, Eve who had never complained about her circumstances, Eve who Jada loved as a _daughter_: That was who it belonged to!

Minerva leered at her. "Well it wasn't as if she was coming to _collect_ it…"

Her fists tightened further.

"You spent your family's money like a fool," Valentine stated evenly. the Circle leader's voice was eerily calm, but Jada couldn't see his face well enough to decipher his expression. From what she _could_ see, he looked furious. "You sold all of the Riversend valuables, and now you expect me to disregard your husband's dying wish, so that I give you the little amount of money that the family has left... Is that _really_ what you are asking me to do, Minerva?"

The redhead seemed to catch herself.

"Eve may have little money," she amended obsequiously, realizing that the situation was not in her favor. "But it shouldn't matter, not to you... Eve's union to Jonathan should not be affected. The Morgenstern family has more than enough money to manage with –"

Valentine laughed – an icy, resonant, humorless laugh.

"In little over a year, your daughter will be bearing my_ grandchildren_,Minerva," he told her suddenly. His eyes were flashing dangerously. "My _grandchildren_," he repeated. "The Morgenstern bloodline. They will become the elite warriors of this world... And you have come here to tell me that you have completely _squandered_ Eve's portion of their family inheritance with your self-interest and _stupidity... Do you honestly expect that I would give the money to you?"_

Paling, Minerva shrunk back into her chair.

She looked absolutely stunned.

"Was it not enough for you to kill your husband?" he asked her. "Did you really have to destroy his _family_ as well?"

Minerva's eyes guarded themselves. "I don't know what you mean, Lord Valentine."

"Don't you? You intercepted all the letters that Emile ever wrote to me when he was mourning the loss of his daughter," Valentine murmured, smiling knowingly. "All except for one."

Something flickered in Minerva's expression – fear.

Jada had never heard _this_ part of the story before…

"Emile sent one last letter," Valentine continued on. "Telling me he had suspected what you had done with the previous letters, but that none of it mattered. He felt like a failure for giving Eve up – and couldn't live with himself… I mourned his loss, Minerva, when he killed himself… I had always hoped that Eve would have contact with her father, as she grew up… And I probably would have involved Emile with her more from the start, if it wasn't for his friendship with that Downworld-loving Argyle Silverspear."

A sound like gun-shot pealed through Jada's mind.

She almost fell off her chair.

"I refuse to help you ruin Emile's family name, or Eve's inheritance," Valentine ended smoothly. "And personally, I am extremely grateful to be washing my hands of you, Minerva – knowing that the rest of Eve's fortune is locked away safely in a very secure bank account."

She spluttered. "But – but what am I going to live off of? I _need_ that money –"

Valentine smiled cruelly.

"Eve is somewhere around the Manor, Minerva…" he suggested. "You are more than welcome to go and ask her for whatever it is that you need." He leaned over the desk a bit to her, his smile widening. "Though, just between you and me," he whispered in a low voice, "I don't expect that Eve will be feeling very _charitable_ towards you - not when I explain to her that her father committed _suicide_ because of your treachery."

Minerva gaped at him, her cheeks flushing red.

Her green eyes lingered distractedly on the sculpted contours of his lips, in spite of her rage.

"I –" she cried. "I have never been so disrespectfully treated in my _entire_ _life_!"

With a fluster of curses, Minerva rose to her feet, turned around, and stormed to the office door, her emerald dress the last smear of color Jada saw as she railed out of the room. "If I ever see this Manor again it will be too soon!" she called, thundering through the door. "I can promise that you will regret this, Valentine Morgenstern! I will make sure that you regret it!"

A man-servant was in the doorway, and after a subtle gesture from Valentine, he took Minerva by the elbow and led her away, kicking and screaming - probably, Jada guessed, to the front door.

A smile crept to her lips.

Jada watched Minerva go with a feeling of intense satisfaction, and then turned her attention back to Valentine. He was studying the newly vacated doorway with a pensive expression, his handsome features set as his mind worked. A minute went by before Jada dropped herself down to him, passing her lips lightly over his cheekbone.

It was a whisper of touch; one which quickly drew him out of his train of thought.

"Good riddance," she murmured low into Valentine's ear. "God, she is an awful woman. I don't know how a gargoyle like her could have _ever_ given birth to someone like Eve."

"Eve is purely her father's daughter…" Valentine answered, toying thoughtfully with a piece of Jada's raven-black hair. "I would never have tolerated her if she had been anything less." He smiled meditatively, the notion apparently entertaining him. "It probably was unwise to have angered Minerva like that," he mused as an afterthought. "She does not forgive – and very rarely forgets."

"I don't care if she _is_ furious," Jada vowed. "At least it will keep her away from here."

Valentine shrugged off the response. After waiting a moment, Jada dropped her lips down, letting herself kiss the hard lines of his jaw, all along his neck…

She sensed him smile.

"It is probably better for me that she is gone," he sighed a little breathlessly, wrapping his strong arms around her waist.

Jada was intrigued.

"Oh?" she wondered between kisses. "And why is that?"

Silence followed her question, making her raise her head and look up at Valentine.

His black eyes were flashing wickedly in his otherwise somber face. Then, suddenly, his pale mouth curled into a beautiful smirk.

"I have _terrible_ luck with redheads," he told her in a deep, humored tone.

Jada smiled, and, with one last glance at the clock, let her lips drift lower to Valentine's mouth.

* * *

><p><strong>How'd you like it?<strong>

**I'm sorry about Minerva's explanation being a bit vague, but I promise, it is only for those of you who read Eden... You will get a better version of the story later... Muahaha... In the mean time, review and tell me what your thoughts are...**

**Unitl next time,**

**Love, Fishie.**


	23. Chapter 23: The Game

**Hello, everyone!**

**I feel like I really haven't updated for awhile, so forgive me. This chapter is quite long, if that makes you feel any better... **

**PS: This chapter is kind of introductory - it gives a _ton_ of basis for what is going to come up next in MG. But the next two chapters will more than make up for all the long intro, I promise!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Mortal Instruments!**

* * *

><p>"Eve… <em>Eve<em>!"

Jada rapped once on Eve's old-fashioned school desk with her ruler – none too kindly – and Eve was hauled out of her pleasant daydream by the harsh snap of wood striking wood.

Jada's blonde pupil immediately glanced away from the window and redirected her attention to where it _should_ have been – on her stunning, Italian tutor – but she instantly knew it wasn't enough. Eve looked as guilty as a criminal as she glanced at Jada, and she offered her a weak smile as an apology; hoping, but doubting, that it somehow might cool her tutor's raging temper.

"_Eve_," Jada repeated for the last time, looking extremely annoyed. "Have you listened to a _single_ word that I have said in the last _ten_ _minutes_?"

Truth be told, Eve hadn't been listening at all – the window had been drawing her gaze like a magnet, distracting her – but the way Jada was yielding that wooden ruler made Eve slightly nervous. She wasn't going to admit the fact out loud.

"Of course I have been listening, Jada… " She stammered mid-sentence, groping for the right words. "I…I was…"

Lying had never been Eve's strongpoint, and she could tell immediately by the look on her tutor's face that she had seen right through her thin response.

With a sharp sigh, Jada rose to her high-heeled feet, strode towards the tall, narrow window at the far end of the room, and jerked the velvet curtains closed with a flourish. It snuffed out the afternoon sunlight in the room like a candle, and Eve winced, knowing that she had been caught red-handed.

Jada apparently had noticed her gazing out of the window.

"Honestly, _bambina_," her tutor explained tiredly, slowly turning around. "I have been very flexible in this past week with your lessons… The least you could do is pay attention until you are fully caught up."

There was still enough light streaming in from the other windows that Jada glowed as she stood there, tapping her foot on the marble floor impatiently. Her silhouette was a masterpiece by every standard – her body was all thick, rippling hair, and a lovely, hourglass torso, and long, perfectly toned legs. And even though she had been living with Jada for over eight years, Eve's breath was _still_ taken away by her tutor's flawless beauty.

She dropped her gold-flecked eyes apologetically and nodded. "I'm sorry, Jada," she murmured, sadly. "It… it won't happen again."

There was a lengthy pause, where the tutor studied Eve's features with critical sharpness, and then she chidingly shook her head and groaned.

"Oh, alright, _alright_," she muttered, rolling her eyes. With even more theatricality than before, Jada flung open the window's thick drapes, letting the natural light spill in the room once more. "You are going to _mope_ for the rest of the afternoon if you don't get to see him," she said. "So you might as well just get it over with… Come on." She waved her over. "Come here."

Eve did as she was told – with a flaming, joyful blush on her cheeks.

Jonathan had been finally allowed outdoors, that morning – for the first time since he had been Changed three days ago – and Eve had not been able to take her eyes off him since.

And their location had helped to distract her, Eve supposed.

Jonathan had been allowed to go outside on only one condition; that he did not participate in any, (and Valentine had been very clear), _ANY_ physically demanding activities, or _anything_ which may cause harm to his healing body. Namely, that had meant no training: No swordsmanship, no hand-to-hand combat, no sparring, and no agility… But Jonathan had taken the rules in stride. He had found a less 'physically demanding' activity to devote his morning to – something that even _Valentine_ had approved of…

Horseback riding.

And as Eve had happily realized, her study room window just _happened_ to overlook the stables and the riding arena... He had been perfectly in her view that entire morning.

Carefully, Eve navigated around the mahogany furniture in her study room until she reached Jada's side – and then she peeked up at her tutor timidly when she got there, wondering what it was that she was supposed to do.

"Well, go on," Jada ushered with an impatient wave of her bronzed hand, "look at him. Get an eye-full. It's what you want, isn't it?"

Eve's blush deepened, but she said nothing. There was nothing she could really say.

Obediently, she edged closer to the window and let her eyes drift downwards to where they really wanted to be: In the riding arena, on Jonathan.

Mesmerized, Eve took in each of his movements, each of his expressions – watching the way he galloped around and around the arena on his horse, awing in the way his pale body turned liquid silver when he rushed along the white fencing. The horse he was riding – a towering, black shadow of an animal – had been a gift from his father many years ago; and at that moment, Eve could only see the flash of its flowing mane and the blur of its powerful, dark legs kicking up dust as it carried its pale master hurtling towards a training jump. Her breath caught in her throat, just as the horse bounded effortlessly over the wooden obstacle, landed as smoothly as a panther in the sandy arena, and continued dashing along its course. It wasn't until she was sure nothing terrible had happened to Jonathan that Eve let herself breathe.

Jonathan was grinning, she could see; but the smile nothing more than a pale blur in his face from the distance of the window. He looked like freedom itself; with his smirk and his speed and his silvery white hair dancing on the wind.

But something else suddenly caught Eve's attention, then – something which made her heart skip a single, agonizing beat in her chest.

A cluster of maids was freely lounging at the sidelines of the arena; giggling, blushing, and applauding Jonathan on his successful jump – and the sight of them being there was like a thorn being thrust into Eve's core.

Jonathan had been so difficult to love for so long. And now – now that he was healed – it was an absolute miracle to be around him. Eve felt like a newborn baby whenever he was near: it felt like she was really _breathing_ for the first time in her entire life – and Eve didn't want to have to share him – or the feeling he gave her – with anyone else.

Especially not with the servants.

Eve had spent every possible moment with Jonathan in the past few days – and part of the reason had been because she'd been worried. She had feared that every second would be her last – that if she left Jonathan for any length of time, he would turn back into the person he had been before; and she didn't know if she could take that any longer. Not after seeing the person he _really_ was, who he had become… Every time Eve had walked through the infirmary door, she had half-expected to see Jonathan sit up and sneer at her and tell her that his angelic behavior had all been a cruel joke, even though it had been realer than anything she had ever known…

But of course, Jonathan had greeted her with the same, angelic, heart-shattering smile each time; it was the special smile that he reserved only for her.

He had never been any different. And he had never changed.

But as Eve watched the maids down below, she could feel a pang of dawning realization flower in her chest. She had wished that she could cup her hands around Jonathan like a wild butterfly and keep him with her forever – but she recognized now that that was a fantasy. She could not simply _take_ Jonathan's attention all the time. It was childish – and not only childish, but _selfish_ – to think that way.

He deserved freedom; even if Eve could never have it herself.

Her eyes followed helplessly as Jonathan and his horse slowed from a gallop, to a trot, to a slow walk. Boldly, one of the maids by the fence shouted something to him – Eve could see it by the faint indication of her lips moving – and Jonathan laughed good-naturedly at the comment. The sight of him enjoying their company stung, somehow, and Eve shrank away from the window, toying nervously with the ends of her golden hair.

Jada seemed to notice Eve's troubled look right away. She thought she spied a motherly look of concern pass over her tutor's features.

Then, with the kind of glamorous flair that was typical of her, Jada immediately slid the bottom portion of the window open and sat herself on the ledge. A cool expression had settled like mist over her immaculate features, and the warm breeze tossed her black hair gently.

"I don't _pay you_ to laze around all day, in case you were wondering," she called to the maids down below. The girls recognized their mistress's voice instantly; they tensed and revolved around slowly, like mice cornered by a cat. "But since you seem to like the stables so much," Jada continued, narrowing her brown eyes at them, "perhaps I should put all of you girls on stable-cleaning duty for the next few weeks. It would make sense, considering that you don't seem to be doing anything _else_ productive with your time."

The maids were speechless.

Unexpectedly, Jonathan laughed from his black, leather saddle – out of true humor this time, instead of polite necessity. His waiting horse pawed restlessly at the ground, wanting to run.

"Well,_ you_ seem to be in an especially good mood, this afternoon, Jada," Jonathan called up to her teasingly. Suddenly, he caught sight of Eve lingering beside Jada in the window, and he immediately flashed an affectionate, playful grin her way. "I hope you haven't been taking any of your pent-up rage out on my _fiancée_, Miss Buonavento," Jonathan put in, eyeing the ruler in Jada's hand skeptically. His dark, humored eyes ran over Eve's face like warm, summer rain. "She is unexpectedly fragile, you see…"

At the words, 'my fiancée,' Eve's cheeks turned a distinctive shade of red. The knowledge and the title of being 'engaged to Jonathan' was nothing new to her, but to hear the phrase being said from _Jonathan's_ mouth was a completely different experience than hearing it from Valentine's or Jada's… It was more personal, somehow.

She just prayed that Jonathan couldn't see her violent blushing from the distance between them.

"I'm being no crueler to her than I usually am," Jada replied in a short, equally sarcastic tone. "It's nothing that a few _iratzes_ and a couple, solid years of counseling can't fix."

Jonathan laughed again, and Eve's heart constricted.

She gnawed her lip for a moment longer before finally speaking. "You… you did an amazing job with the jump, by the way, Jonathan…" Eve called to him abruptly, gaining an emphatic, 'are-you-seriously- congratulating-him-on-his-_horsemanship_?' look from Jada.

Jonathan didn't seem to think the compliment was as pathetic as Jada had.

He smiled up at her gratefully, drenched head to toe in spring sun. With the way he was sitting on the horse and with the intense afternoon lighting, he looked more like a statue of some ancient Greek god than a real human being.

Jonathan opened his lips to speak, but before he could reply, a sound like a clatching door met Eve's ears, and Jonathan glanced toward the source of the noise. A new, imposing figure was striding toward the riding arena, making the maids disperse as it came – and a single glimpse told Eve that it was Valentine. The powerful grace of his movements, the dark blur of his suit, and the shining cap of his silver-white hair gave him away immediately.

And Jonathan seemed to notice him as well.

In a single, smooth motion, the youngest Morgenstern swung off his horse, handed the reigns to a waiting, raven-haired stable hand, and met his father by the white fence of the arena. They conversed for a moment, in low voices which Eve could not hear, and then Valentine turned and looked up to the window where she and Jada stood. His expression was slightly amused, as if the sight of them there was humorous to him.

"Ah, Miss Buonavento," Valentine slowly greeted, smiling at her. His voice carried resonantly, without needing extra volume behind it. "You are just the woman I was hoping to speak with."

Jada smiled back from her window perch. "And why is that, Mr. Morgenstern?" she answered gamely.

"Jonathan asked yesterday if he might be able to take some of his lessons with Eve and yourself," Valentine explained, glancing back at his son. Jonathan was searching Eve's face as his father said it, almost shyly, wondering how she would take the news. Eve felt like her heart might explode with joy. "I wanted to hear your opinion on the matter, before I gave him my consent."

Jada's chocolate eyes gleamed with secret knowledge as she glanced at Eve. There was a pause so long that Eve thought her heart would leap from her chest.

"I think it will do the both of us some good," the tutor finally answered, "to have some new blood in the classroom… As far as I'm concerned, Jonathan is more than welcome to come upstairs and study with us right now, if he wishes to."

Jonathan grinned.

Valentine turned and muttered another inaudible word or two to his son, and without a verbal response that Eve could see, Jonathan nodded silently and followed his father back into the Manor house. Was it just a trick of the light, or did Jonathan actually seem like he was _hurrying_ to see her?

Either way, Eve was thrilled. The simple thought of her studying in the same room as Jonathan was a mixture of ecstasy and nervous horror. She watched as Jada slid the window closed and shot a short, superior glance at her pupil.

"Don't say I never do anything for you," she muttered in a regal tone. Then, with a flick of her thick, black hair, she rose to her feet and returned to her majestic desk. Eve plodded after her happily, smoothing down her loose, curly hair.

"Thank you so much, Jada," she murmured once she had settled into her desk. "I don't know how I will ever repay you –"

"You could calm down, to start with," her tutor suggested casually, arranging some papers on her desk distractedly. "And if I were you, I would try to stop blushing so much. Your face is starting to look like a tomato, _bambina_."

"It is _not_!" Despite the confidence in her voice, Eve self-consciously put her fingers to her cheeks, feeling the heat of her blushing skin.

Jada looked entertained.

With a thoughtful glance at her marble clock, Jada muttered, "I have no idea why you get so shy about your relationship with Jonathan, _uccello_… It's no secret that you have feelings for him, and all the staff already know that you two are meant to be engaged, anyway…"

Eve's rosy cheeks darkened in hue. "Be-because it's _personal_," she stammered anxiously, feeling flustered. "And Jonathan and I… we aren't really romantically… well… _together_ yet – well, not since Jonathan has been Changed – so us being _engaged _is -"

Jada raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her. "'Romantically _together_?'" she murmured, looking interested. "What exactly do you mean by _that_, _bambina_?"

"Oh… well… I don't know," Eve spluttered weakly. She felt like her face was the color of fresh blood as she glanced away from her tutor. "…'kissing,' I suppose… and things like that…"

"_Kissing_? You are getting _this_ flustered about _kissing_ _him_, _uccello_?" Her tutor looked like she wanted to both embrace Eve and kick her in the ankle at the same time. Slowly, Jada abandoned her stack of papers and glanced at Eve with an exasperated sigh. "You are going to have to move past this 'kissing' nonsense, _bambina_… What do you think you are going to do with him on your _wedding_ _night_? Play a nice game of _cards_?"

As far as Eve was concerned, that sounded like a _perfectly_ respectable way to spend one's wedding night.

Although she doubted that Jonathan would be so convinced.

She hid her gaze from Jada, but before Eve could say anything in response, there was a polite knock at the door. She forgot her conversation with her tutor and eagerly turned around in her old-fashioned school desk.

Eve saw what she had expected to see.

Jonathan was lingering in the mahogany doorway; his colorless hair windswept and untidy, his black eyes dancing and wild, his dark clothes inelegantly tousled… He was beautiful, Eve realized. Even when he wasn't trying. Every sculpted plane of his face, every hard line of his body, every expression in his eyes, every small, habitual movement – was beautiful. And Eve was totally mesmerized by it all.

His chest was rising and falling swiftly, she noticed as an afterthought, his black t-shirt moving with the rhythm of his breaths. It was as if he had run all the way there. And somewhere along the way, she noticed, Valentine must have left as well, because Jonathan was alone in the doorway…

"Well." Jada raised a shadowy eyebrow at him, also abandoning the conversation. "_You_ certainly wasted no time in getting here, Jonathan," she remarked, leaning back on her desk. With a sly smile, the tutor added, "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised… You always seem to be _particularly_ motivated whenever a certain, good-looking _blonde_ is involved."

Eve's pale cheeks blazed an even deeper red – and Jonathan grinned. It made Eve's heart race all the more.

"I lack patience," he replied in his smooth, cultured voice – though Eve had to admit, he _did_ sound a little breathless."It's a genetic trait, I hear."

"It certainly is." Smirking, Jada unhitched herself from her desk and strode past Jonathan toward the hallway, her black heels clicking. "I need to find you a desk and some books, Jonathan," she said as she went by. The tutor stopped momentarily to fling a pointed glance over her shoulder at him. "Can I trust you two to behave until I return?"

Eve's face blazed.

The way the light from the windows ran over Jonathan's marble skin was pure artistry. _How could she__ be the one with the heaven's blood in her veins_, Eve thought, _when Jonathan was the one standing there – looking as pale and beautiful as an angel? _

"Jada! I cannot believe you would ask such a thing," Jonathan scoffed in mock hurt. "I am my father's son. I treat women with _utmost_ respect –"

"Please don't put 'your father' and 'respecting women' in the same sentence, Jonathan," Jada muttered with a smile. "You're making me nervous."

Eve watched as her tutor warmly touched Jonathan's shoulder before disappearing into the corridor, and then she observed, to her surprise, that Jonathan turned his head slightly to watch Jada go. Eve was a bit shocked by it all. Her tutor's tender gesture was at odds with her sarcastic tone. And since when had she and Jonathan grown so fond of each other?

But there wasn't enough time to ponder on the questions. An instant later, the door closed behind Jada, and Eve was left alone with Jonathan and her spinning thoughts.

She gnawed anxiously on her bottom lip as he turned his head to study her.

"You two seem to be getting along much better," Eve remarked, trying for lightness in her voice. "You and Jada, that is."

Jonathan appeared cool and composed as he strode into the room, but there was a wicked smile playing about the corners of his lips. He wordlessly grabbed a heavy armchair from the corner of the room, slid it in front of Eve's little desk, and took a seat.

A strange, fluttery feeling clenched at Eve's chest as he came. Silently, she inhaled, breathing in the delicious smell of Jonathan's nearness; she could pick out the faint scents of the stables and fresh air and sunlight, and underneath it all, that natural, spicy scent of his skin and hair. When combined together, the effect was marvelous.

"Can you keep a secret?" Jonathan asked mischievously, gazing at her. His black eyes were just as lovely as the rest of him, Eve thought. They were fringed with long, almost invisible, white lashes, and were glinting in way that drew her in.

She nodded silently.

"While I was in the infirmary, Jada came to visit me every day," Jonathan admitted at a whisper, "for at least an _hour_ each time, nonetheless… You could say we've grown to know each other very well in the past couple of days."

Surprise rushed over Eve like a jolt of electricity.

"_Really_?" she exclaimed. "Jada never said anything about it!… But – but why would she come to _see_ _you?_ The first time she and you spoke, you seemed to _despise_ each other – or at least _she_ seemed to despise _you_…"

Jonathan grinned, in a way that lit up his face, but his dark eyes were subdued and thoughtful.

"Jada doesn't want anyone to know she came, I think," he told her. "I think… it might raise too many questions for her… But I'm glad she decided to come, whatever the reasons were… I had never had a single conversation with her before then, Eve – even though we had been living in the same house for over _eight_ _years_." He paused and shook his head slightly, as if regretting the fact. His smile faded. "It… it was good to finally find out what kind of woman I had been ignoring for all that time, I suppose," he finished pensively.

Eve dropped her gaze to the edge of her desk.

Jonathan's eyes were almost too intense to look at.

"And what kind of woman did you find," she asked softly, "when you finally spoke to Jada?"

Jonathan studied her features for a moment, and then chuckled quietly to himself. The wickedness in his eyes dissolved as he watched her, becoming as gentle and somber as black velvet.

"Jada is beautiful," he replied. "And intelligent, and sarcastic, and as stubborn as a mule on the best of days…" Jonathan paused then, and Eve heard his voice begin to smile and soften. "But she is also selflessly kind, and incredibly strong, and unwaveringly loyal – And… she cares very much about you, Eve," he added with a little smile, "which is all that really matters to me, in the end."

Eve met his gaze without a response.

She could remember a mere week ago, when she had snuck into Jonathan's bedroom that one night to speak with him. She could recall the agonized look on his face perfectly – hear his desperate voice saying, _"__Everyone__ is afraid of me! Why do you think my mother left me so many years ago? She thought I was a monster, a __freak__!"_

Somehow, Eve could not place that Jonathan – that one filled with unquenchable pain and anger – anywhere near the one that was in front of her now – the one who was speaking of Jada as fondly as if she was his actual _mother_.

It touched Eve, to see him feeling that way about her tutor.

If she really thought about it, Eve supposed that was the way she felt about Jada, too.

Without another word, Jonathan reached out and plucked a plain wooden pencil off of Eve's desk, toying with it in his long-boned fingers. The Morgenstern family ring glittered on his left hand like silver bullet. And Eve observed the ring's glinting with a smile.

'_My fiancée_,' Jonathan had said.

Which meant that that Morgenstern family name would be hers soon enough, as well.

"So," Jonathan added, tactfully changing the topic. He peeked up at her through his eyelashes, playfully. "Have you found out who it is, yet, Eve?"

Eve, who had been too busy studying Jonathan's lips moving to pay attention to his words, blinked at him. "Whom?" she asked dazedly.

"Jada's _lover_," he explained. "Have you found out who it is?"

Eve instantly realized what he had meant – and frowned.

When Jonathan had been in the infirmary, it had been their personal joke for Eve to guess who Jada's 'mystery lover' was – although it had been less of a _joke_ and more of a cleverly devised _game_ on Jonathan's part.

Jonathan, who had known the answer all along, had given a simple 'yes' or 'no' to each of her suggestions, but would never really put much input to the matter, otherwise. Eve had asked why Jonathan couldn't just give her the answer _plainly_ – that answering 'yes' or 'no' was just as bad as telling her the name – but he had insisted that if he told her the information right out, he would be skinned alive: if not by 'mystery man' than _certainly_ by Jada.

Because of it, Eve had spent _hours_ in the infirmary guessing man upon man to see which one might be the correct one, but with no success. Jonathan had said that she'd guessed wrongly every time, but Eve was starting to doubt the validity of the game, at that point. She'd begun to wonder if Jonathan _really_ knew who Jada's lover was, or, (if he did), that Jonathan was giving her _honest_ answers when she gave him a suggestion. Nevertheless, 'The Game' was exasperating one for Eve, and it hadn't given her any worthwhile information about Jada, so far.

"No," Eve sulkily replied, crossing her pale arms over her chest, "I haven't figured out who it is – and I've probably guessed just about every man in the Manor, now… I'm starting to think there's no lover at all…"

Jonathan smiled at her fondly. Gently, he reached out and tucked a stray lock of her golden hair behind her ear, and the feel of his fingertips brushing her skin made warm shivers tremble down Eve's spine.

"But you're missing the most obvious suggestion!" he chuckled in amazement, drawing his hand back. "I really thought you would have gotten this by now, Eve…" She scowled at him; feeling frustrated by the unsolvable puzzle, and Jonathan laughed again, probably because of her sulky expression. "Try to change your criteria, Eve," he suggested soothingly. "You've been guessing all the wrong types of people…"

"There are _criteria_?" Eve wondered. "I didn't know there were criteria! I thought I was just trying to guess someone young and good-looking…" (Which, Eve wanted to add, happened to basically be all stable hands, coachmen, and man-servants that the Manor had.) "_Is _he young and good-looking?" she inquired, studying Jonathan's face.

"Well I'm sure _he_ likes to think so," he replied with a grin, waving away the question. "No more hints," he added, suddenly all business. "Hints will make this too easy."

Eve scowled again.

"This isn't _fair_," she cried. "_I'm_ Jada's pupil! _I'm_ the one she talks to! Why _am_ I the last one to know about this?"

Jonathan smiled and gently traced the lines of her pouted, unhappy lip with the blunt end of the pencil in his hand – using as little pressure as a breath – as if he was trying to remember the shape of her mouth perfectly. "Perhaps it is _because_ you are close to her that she doesn't want you to know…" he offered.

It wasn't comforting for Eve.

She sighed and snatched the pencil away from him. "I'm never going to figure this out, am I?"

"You could try and bribe me for the answer," Jonathan suggested a bit too eagerly. "You might be able to get the answer _that_ way…"

Eve eyed him suspiciously. "What do you mean, 'bribe you for the answer'?"

"You could give me a back massage in some dim, romantic candlelight," he replied with a diabolical smirk. _"That_ would be a start."

"JONATHAN!" Eve flung her pencil at him, feeling at her wits end. The pencil rebounded off his shielding hands and he chuckled at her. "This isn't funny! Why can't you just ask for something _normal_? Like for me to bake you a cake or –"

His grin was like an unsheathed knife. "I only want cake if you're offering to _feed_ it to me, Eve. In a highly seductive manner."

She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs.

But something about the low, bassy purr of Jonathan's tone was music to Eve's ears – regardless of what he was saying or how infuriating it was.

"Well, is it you?" she asked then.

Confusion flickered over his handsome features. "Am I _what?"_

"Jada's lover. You are one of the only other people I haven't guessed yet… And you are different from the other guesses I've made…"

"You think I'm in love with _Jada_?" Immediately, Jonathan laughed, in a way that was pure humor – neither malicious nor judgmental. It felt good to hear him being amused by her suggestion; she had certainly _hoped_ it wasn't true. "Why in the world would you think I feel that way about _her_?" he continued.

The tangy taste of raw skin filled Eve's mouth. She tried to stop biting on her lip and failed. "Well, don't… don't you think she is _attractive_?" she asked uneasily. If she really thought about it, Eve honestly didn't _want_ to hear what his answer would be.

But again, Jonathan laughed – though it was gentler this time. Without a second's hesitation, he extended his hand a second time and cupped her blazing cheek in his palm. Eve turned her head to finally look at Jonathan; to run her gaze over his lovely cheekbones and jaw. His dark eyes were inexplicably serious.

"Eve," Jonathan murmured tenderly, studying her features pointedly. His silence grabbed her attention in an instant. "Jada Buonavento… is not the _only_ attractive or beautiful woman in this Manor. You don't have to worry about where my affections lie."

The meaning was not lost on Eve.

Her lips parted, but no reply came. Weakly, she nodded without looking at him, and Jonathan gently slipped his hand away from her face.

"And besides," he added. "It would be… _wrong_… for me to be attracted to Jada, considering the circumstances…"

Eve blinked at him, innocently. "Which circumstances?"

"Nothing." The corner of Jonathan's sculpted lips curled. "I'm giving you way too many hints today."

Hastily, Eve glanced at him, but before she could ask him more about it, the sound of clicking heels entered the room, and Eve knew that Jada had returned.

"Forgive me for taking so long," the tutor's voice said. Eve turned to look at Jada and saw that she had her hands impatiently on her hips. "You would not _believe_ how hard it is to find a simple desk in this Manor. In a place this big, you'd think there would be more around… Some of the maids are still out searching."

An idea flashed in Jonathan's eyes, and after aiming a humored smile at Eve, he fluidly rose to his feet.

"Thank you very much for your effort, Jada," he told her, "but perhaps we ought to postpone my lessons here, for today. It seems that you need some time to prepare, and I think," - he glanced pointedly at Eve - "that my presence here this afternoon is only going to distract Eve from her studies…"

Reaching out, Eve's fingers quickly caught Jonathan's wrist. "No, don't – don't go…" Jada raised a questioning eyebrow at her and Eve quickly dropped her hand to her side. Jonathan's expression was mildly concerned as he gazed at her. "You just _got_ here, after all… And I'm sure it wouldn't be too much trouble to –"

"Eve." Like a perfect gentleman, Jonathan reached down and smoothly took her hand in his. "You need to stay here and catch up on your missed schooling," he quietly murmured, planting a short kiss on her knuckles. "You can meet with me afterwards; we can talk then."

"But –"

Her protests trailed off. Something intense in his dark eyes forced her to give up trying to keep him there. His eyes told her he had to go – whether she wanted him to or not.

"I… I will see you afterwards then, Jonathan," she finished reluctantly, sheepishly taking back her hand. She was aware of her tutor watching them like a prison warden.

Smiling, he turned away from her and politely nodded to Jada. "May I come back again tomorrow, Miss Buonavento?"

"Yes." Jada stared past him at Eve as she spoke. Her expression was a bit puzzled. "I think that would be for the best."

With one last look over his shoulder at Eve, Jonathan exited the room as quietly and gracefully as he had come. She watched him go with a rueful frown, wondering what it really was that had made him leave, but it was over all too soon. Jada slid into place at her mahogany desk with finality, dispelling Eve's thoughts.

"Did I miss something?" Jada asked, flicking back her hair. "He seemed to leave here in a bit of a hurry…"

Squinting, Eve kept her eyes fastened on the doorway where Jonathan had disappeared into.

"I have no idea, Jada," she replied dazedly, shaking her blonde head. "I have no idea at all."

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><p><strong>How did you like it? <strong>

**The pace was a bit slower than previous chapters, but like I said at the beginning, there will be more than enough action in the next two chapters, (and, to be honest, basically every chapter after that), to make up for it...**

**This chapter was really fun to write, though. I love Jonathan/Jada interactions: they are both so hilariously sarcastic!**

**Anyway, like always, review with you thoughts!**

**I'll see you next time!**

**Love, Fishie.**


	24. Chapter 24: The Library

**Hello everyone!**

**So sorry for the excruciatingly long wait, hopefully this chapter will make up for it, in the end! :) I really am enjoying writing this so much, and it makes me so glad to see that other people enjoy reading my stories as much as I enjoy writing them! I hope you all hang on as I delve into a new plot twist in a few chapters' time; believe me, as soon as I thought of it, I was almost bouncing of the walls expectantly to write it! So there's a bit of foreshadowing for you!**

**P.S: I have a new story called "The Hunt' which is all about the past between Jada/ Valentine, so if you like that coupling, give it a look... The first chapter is quite short, so I apologize...**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>"Well, I'm glad <em>one<em> of us finds this amusing," Jonathan told her, grinning. "Personally, I thought it was humiliating… I'll likely never look at my family ancestry again."

Eve was laughing out loud – heartily, unabashedly – in a way she doubted she had ever laughed before.

She and Jonathan were spread out on the leather sofa together, her back against one padded arm of the couch and his against the other, with their legs tangled carelessly in the middle. Somewhere in the time between Jonathan coming to see her and now, they had both kicked off their shoes and socks, leaving them barefoot as they sat together – and it only worked to make Eve more delighted than she already was. For whatever reason, it seemed charmingly absurd that they would ever be barefoot together – it was so unlike the somber mood that hovered in the rest of the Manor, the mood that had settled into its pale stone – that hung in its air. Having some sort of jovial release of the tension had always been a rare and necessary tradition.

But never before had it been so easy – so easy to let herself laugh.

"I can't help but feel amused, Jonathan," Eve answered, matching his smile. "It isn't every day you meet a boy whose great, great, great – How many greats were there?"

He smirked beautifully. "Seven."

"Alright – whose great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather almost burned down the Hall of the Angel with a candle, a bottle of vodka, and a very ill-placed sneeze."

"You must feel honored." With a sigh, Jonathan raked a hand through his snow-white hair. It was tumbled, unlike his father's was – far from pin-straight, yet not considerably curly – and Eve silently wondered if it was something he had inherited from his mother. "I don't know why Father asks me to read all of those ridiculous Morgenstern family history books," he muttered, glancing to the burning fireplace beside them. Hot reflections of fire played across his bare neck and face – like the northern lights that Eve had read so much about, but had never seen. "If he's trying to engender me with a sense of familial pride, his methods are surprisingly counter-productive."

"I wouldn't be too troubled by it," insisted Eve. Somehow, Jonathan had casually slipped his hand to rest on her ankle, and the feel of his fingers against her bare skin was making Eve's stomach flutter. "I'm sure the Riversend family lineage is not much better…"

"No," he sighed. "I read into the Riversends, as well… _Your_ family happens to be squeaky clean. Not a single arsonist to be found."

"What a pity."

Her gaze caught, almost against her will, on the delicious curve of Jonathan's lips. Hastily she glanced down, before she could blush, to his collarbone – but she was suddenly reminded that she shouldn't have. Tonight, Jonathan was wearing something more to his father's tastes than he usually did: a white, button-up shirt tucked into formal, charcoal-colored trousers. The sleeves were unbuttoned and rolled carelessly to his elbows, exposing his fair, Rune-scarred forearms – and his scars glinted in the reddish light of the blazing fireplace beside them like a spider web of silver threads… Unfortunately, his shirt gaped open at the top, also – And as Eve glanced away from his lips, she only succeeded in getting a teasing view of his pectoral muscles.

Flustered, Eve wrenched her gaze away from Jonathan entirely and glued her eyes instead onto the fireplace. The mantle that surrounded it was a massive, beautiful thing, crafted from palest marble – but then, _everything_ in the Library, she supposed, was extravagantly beautiful. The Library was, after all, the grandest room in the Manor, in Eve's mind. Its height spanned all three levels of the Manor, and its ceiling was capped with a lovely, painted motif of heaven at the top, complete with the blue sky and fluffy clouds and chubby angels. The flooring was a wide expanse of marble ocean, gleaming in the light of the crystal chandelier that hung from the center of the ceiling. Lines of heavy, gilded books were stocked all along the floor-to-ceiling wooden shelves, accessible only by tall, ornately carved ladders – but perhaps the most awe-inspiring detail of all was the large, marble mosaic in the center of the vast floor.

Eve could vividly remember being a young child in this library, tracing the beautiful lines of this stone flooring with her tiny, pale fingers; and in ten years of living here, her feelings of awe at the sight had not ebbed. The image of the engraving was one well-known by Nephilim. It was the circular icon of the Angel Raziel rising from the Lake, holding the Mortal Cup and the Sword in hand. She could vaguely recall asking Jada once if the Angel was supposed to look like Valentine – what with his pale hair and fair skin – but Jada had laughed and told her that if Valentine got his way, he would become just as well known to the Nephilim as the Angel was – that they would make a different, special mosaic just for him, in the future.

Eve could smile about the thought, now, but she had to admit, even to this day, that there _were_ some striking similarities between the Angel and the Morgensterns… But in retrospect, the Angel looked less like Valentine and more like Jonathan, Eve thought. Jonathan still lacked all of his father's broad, imposing shoulders and impossible height and sharpness of features – just as the Angel did. And Jonathan's dark eyes were clearer than his father's somehow…

Those eyes drifted over her absently, as if browsing a page in a well-loved novel. Eve felt them like pinpoints of electricity on her skin. "So, did you do anything _else_ today, Jonathan?" she inquired, keeping conversation flowing. "Other than learn about your very interesting family history, that is?"

Eve turned to peek at him, with a teasing smile on her lips, but Jonathan wasn't looking at her. His attention was focused on the flames dancing in the hearth at their side – thoughtfully, although it looked like sadness was lingering on the edge of his expression. Small reflections of light had become trapped in his dark eyes like candle-flames. "He – my father – he spoke with me today… about what he plans to do after he obtains the Mortal Cup."

"Oh." Eve wondered about that for a moment. It was not strange that Valentine would speak with Jonathan so privately – or about such delicate, mysterious matters: the two of them shared a very close relationship. But Eve _did_ have to wonder why Jonathan would feel _sad_ in the least about his father's plans. She'd thought their recent progress with the Mortal Cup would have made him _happy_. "Jonathan, you… you seem displeased," she said slowly, toying with her sleeve. "Is… something the matter?"

Finally, his gaze flicked back to her.

Something about his eyes was upsetting. Yes, those eyes were as beautiful as they normally were, sharing the same almond shape as his father's and their same dark color, also; and they were framed by surprisingly long lashes she knew, even if they weren't quite visible from far away – because of their pale color. But as familiar as those dark irises were, the pain that flashed in them was new and shocking. Why would Jonathan need to feel pain? He was healed, he was safe, his father was about to gain the Mortal Cup, and together they were about to restore the Clave. Why would he be anything other than _delighted_?

"My father…" Jonathan shook his head. "My father plans to use the Cup to create an army of Forsaken, as soon as he obtains it. He… is going to use that army to fight off the Clave, until he can acquire the Mortal Sword."

Eve blinked at him, curiously. "And that… upsets you, Jonathan?"

His dark eyes widened a fraction as he stared at her. Then suddenly, guarding his expression, Jonathan glanced away. "I don't know…" His eyes came back to rest on her eyes, and Eve shivered. There was a wealth of uncertainty lingering there. "Don't you think… don't you think it would be wrong? To use people like that?"

"Yes… but…" Eve gnawed on her bottom lip. "They're _mundanes_ Jonathan… And I'm sure Valentine wouldn't use simply _any_ innocent mundane as part of his army… I'm sure he'd ensure they were all willing to undergo the procedure, beforehand… You know there are some mundanes who would agree to that sort of thing…"

Jonathan, apparently unsatisfied, opened his lips to speak – and then he stopped with another slight shake of his head. "I suppose you're right," he said – mostly to himself. His eyes darted away again, for a minute, but when he looked back at her, though, he was smiling – and a tender sort of affection had replaced the misery in his eyes. Slowly reaching out his fingers, Jonathan began to trace light, uneven circles on her ankle. "But enough about my day… How was yours? How were the rest of your lessons?"

"They went well, I suppose," Eve told him. The way he was touching her ankle was raising heat to her face at an alarming rate. "There really isn't much to tell, to be honest with you… All that happened was Jada kept getting cross with me, because I couldn't concentrate on the French lesson."

"Were you too busy thinking of who her lover might be, or were you daydreaming about me?"

Sticking out her tongue at him, Eve reached behind her back, pulled out one of the many decorative couch cushions, and unceremoniously hurled it at him. Being Jonathan, he caught it before it could hit him, of course, and he arched one of his pale eyebrows at her. Challenge flickered in his smile like rippling water.

"Oh?" he inquired diabolically. "Do you really want to try and _wrestle_ with me, Miss Riversend?"

"Jonathan –" Eve's blue eyes flew open. "Jonathan – No – the marble floor –"

Before her protests left her lips Jonathan had snatched her somehow, slid her underneath him, and had caged her bodily to the couch. Each of his individual movements blurred with his inhuman speed. It seemed like he was faster than he had ever been before.

Eve couldn't stop herself – she laughed out right, even as Jonathan grinned down at her. She ought to have been blushing shamelessly, at that point, but she was somehow too comfortable with Jonathan to feel that way, anymore.

"See?" He studied her face curiously, almost tentatively. The look in his eyes was at odds with his bold smile. "No marble."

Eve stared into Jonathan's face, as well, and found herself wondering if Valentine had ever looked the way his son looked, then – compellingly handsome, unspeakably kind. She had never particularly thought whether Valentine was obviously good-looking or not, even though he and Jonathan shared the exact same features – but Valentine was always beyond such trivial things like vanity. She could never see him that way. "You have nothing to worry about, Eve," finished Jonathan. "I won't be throwing you on any floors this evening."

"I wish I could say the same for you." With a devious grin that matched his, Eve flipped him off of her and onto the floor beside them, but somehow he had guessed what she was going to do and grabbed ahold of her shoulder, pulling her down with him. Unprepared, Eve fell on his chest, landing on him with her full weight – and Jonathan gasped. Flashes of memory from the Infirmary rolled across her mind like film – and Eve suddenly remembered it was only a few days ago that Jonathan had been on bed-rest. Immediately, she propped herself up on her elbows, studying his face.

"Jonathan," she sputtered. "Jonathan, I'm so sorry – you're still healing – I wasn't thinking…"

Her voice trailed off into silence as she caught a glimpse of his expression.

There was something dark, heated, _passionate_ burning behind his eyes. His dark gaze was flicking back and forth between her wide, blue irises and her parted lips, exploring her skin. There was a ghost of the old him in the way his black irises flashed in the intense firelight, and Eve's mouth immediately went dry as she watched him. Suddenly, though, he looked away, breaking their gaze. An apologetic look came over his expression, and Eve wondered why he was avoiding looking her directly in the eye.

"Well that's the last time I'm challenging _you_ to a wrestling match," he told her, wincing a bit, but his heart wasn't in his humor. As it turned out, there was a Persian rug beneath the couch, which had cushioned their fall a bit. Now it framed Jonathan's handsome, pale face with a tapestry of blood-colored crimson. "You play rougher than I expected."

Eve sat up, still on Jonathan's lap, and ran her hand through her blonde curls nervously. Although she hadn't particularly noticed herself doing anything, her bottom lip felt chewed. "Are – are you hurt, Jonathan?" Eve asked.

He chuckled thinly. "That depends. Are you offering to kiss me better?"

Silence set in. His eyes were on her, searching, waiting for a reply. He wanted to see how she would take his words. And to Eve's surprise, she didn't find herself worried or unsettled by them at all.

"You know…" Eve swallowed. "You know that I would kiss you whenever you asked me to, Jonathan… If you asked me to kiss you better; I would."

His eyes flashed then – with desire, with love, and, also, with a little bit of gratitude. He looked like he hadn't really expected her to respond that way.

"Don't say that too liberally," he added after, smirking up at her, "I think I bit my tongue when I fell… Just letting you know."

For the second time that evening, Eve made a face at Jonathan, snatched a pillow from the couch, and thwacked him squarely in the nose with it. But again he blocked the blow. His laughter rang out, echoing over the Library's towering, vaulted ceilings like a church bell.

"Alright, alright, I deserved that –" he gasped between chuckling and breaths. In a single, smooth motion, he flipped her over, so that she was beneath him again on the rug. With a guilty blush, Eve realized that he had cushioned her head with his hand as he'd turned her over, keeping her from being hurt. The fact made her chest tighten.

Defeated, Eve dropped the pillow to her side, smiling at him. "There. We're even, Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern…"

"Not quite yet," he murmured, looking down. Tenderly, his own lips curled up at the corners, in an expression of perfect serenity. "Didn't you promise me a back massage when I was in the Infirmary?"

"No." Her stomach twisted, but she kept her expression neutral. "I think you promised _yourself_ I would give you a back massage," she replied. "I don't remember _agreeing_ to anything."

He chuckled at that, low in his throat.

"That's a shame," he murmured. "And there I was, thinking I was going to get some physical affection."

Paralyzed, Eve could only watch Jonathan as he lowered his face closer to hers. Soon, the tip of his pale nose was pressed against her chin – lightly – as if asking for permission. He stared at her heavily through his silver eyelashes, making her body shudder as he raised his lips to hover directly over her mouth.

Her throat tightened.

Leisurely, Jonathan glanced down at her lips, a question lingering in his eyes, and his lowered eyelashes whispered against Eve's cheekbone like a butterfly's wing.

Eve stared back mutely, her mouth feeling dryer than a dessert.

Whatever emotions that had shown in her face, Eve didn't know; but it seemed to be response enough for Jonathan. Moments later, he dropped his mouth to her neck, planting a tender kiss just below her jawline. There was a pause, and when Eve said and did nothing to stop him, he continued. His lips moved upwards over her cheekbones and temples, sweetly, like mist rising smoothly off of the ocean, curling toward the sun.

Eve shivered, even as she felt the heat of the fireplace beat over her skin. Though she knew she shouldn't let him do this, she didn't want to resist Jonathan. She _couldn't_ resist Jonathan. How could she? He was _vital_ to her; as vital as the angelic, Shadowhunter blood that was pounding through her veins as Jonathan lowered himself down further, drawing close to her. Her eyes drifted shut and she began drowning in his nearness – her mind was too muddled with Jonathan to possibly think of anything to say. His body pressed against hers more strongly, then – and she melted inside to feel the rise of his ribcage as he breathed, the hard contours of his arms and chest surrounding her, the velvet touch of his lips on her face, the fluttering of his heart, and the heat of his skin, with only clothing between them.

And then Jonathan dropped his lips to her mouth.

Eve gasped, even though it had been completely expected, and a sudden wild craving for him surged in her chest like a tsunami. She longed to grip the front of his white, formal shirt, to drag him down to her until she had crushed his mouth against her lips, to will a response from him – but her body froze hesitantly, not wanting to ruin the moment. She felt him smile against her mouth, and then his kiss softened, becoming gentler than she ever thought Jonathan could have been capable of.

Her hands were on him before she even realized what she was doing – sliding up Jonathan's arms with a slow-burning hunger, over his shoulders, around his neck – feeling this territory that was hers, encouraging him on. But Jonathan didn't try to rush her – no, not at all; he was slow, considerate, full and spilling over with affection and emotion. His kiss was like the tide – coming and going, sweeping over and against her mouth. Over and over, again and again, until she thought her body might burst apart at the seams. It turned her insides into water, partly with pleasure and partly with surprise, as his lips caressed hers. And his gentleness was so unexpected, so breathtaking, that it came as a shock when she felt Jonathan grip the rug beneath them savagely, knotting it in his fingers as if it was the only thing keeping him together.

Eve felt his kiss grow more urgent, then, more powerful, and she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him near. In her mind, there was no better way to assure him. To assure him he was doing everything right, giving her exactly what she wanted.

But suddenly, though, Jonathan shuddered and pulled away – with what seemed like an extreme amount of effort. And his dark eyes, when he looked at her next, were both euphoric with desire and strangely tormented. Slowly, Eve saw his pale lips curl into a rueful half-smirk – and the sight of him smiling like that made her heart skip a beat.

"Eve, I – I'm sorry," he told her, a bit amusedly. "I should have _asked_ before I did that…"

"No." Raising herself up on her elbows, Eve pressed herself to his chest and tenderly kissed his lips, letting the moment linger on for as long as possible. She heard and felt Jonathan's catch of breath – and she smiled. "No, Jonathan," she told him, memorizing his face with her blue eyes. "You didn't have to ask me, at all.

His grin widened.

Warm breath fanned against her skin as Jonathan put his lips against her ear and whispered four simple words. Four startling words. Four words she had never anticipated he would ever say out loud.

"I love you, Eve."

The sentence was ice lightening, shocking Eve in an almost painful way.

Her surprise was foolish, she realized. After all, Jonathan had kissed her before. He had held her when she had gone to his bedroom – even after she had proclaimed her feelings for him. He had openly called her his fiancée in front of the servants and Jada. Of course, it was _obvious_ that he loved her.

But he had never _said_ it.

_No_ _one_ had ever said those words to her – no one except her father, Emile. But he had left her ten years ago. Left her to Valentine.

And fathers were obligated to say those words – Jonathan was not.

"Jonathan," she whispered, brushing back some of his pale hair with her fingertips. "Jonathan I… I love you too."

Smiling, he drew his face back and rested his forehead lightly against hers. Eve watched Jonathan, mesmerized, until his eyes fluttered closed and she was forced to follow his lead, even though her eyes were begging her to stay open, to drink in more of the sight of him. Almost without thinking, Eve circled her slender arms around his neck and sighed contentedly – just allowing herself to lie there with him, listening to the crackle of the fireplace and feeling Jonathan's steady breath fan over her lips.

* * *

><p><strong>So, how'd you like it?<strong>

**I was happy to write a Jonathan/Eve kiss scene that wasn't totally tinged with regret on Eve's part... I personally think these two are sooo cute together!**

** Next chapter is a funny one, and it includes Jada and Valentine (We can't leave those two out of the story for long, can we?)... and next chapter is also special because I am writing a FLASHBACK, (Yes, you heard correctly - a flashback), TO EVE AND JONATHAN'S PAST! It really has nothing to do with the forward motion of the plot; it was just a request that I write when Jonathan and Eve first became friends as children, so I'm doing it... On that note, if you guys want to request anything of that nature, I'm more than happy to try and fit in some little side-stories or something at the end of the chapters...**

**As always, review with your thoughts and comments! :) (P.S.S: Don't you like the picture of that good-looking boy that I added to the story?) **

**Until next time,**

**Love, Fishie.**


	25. Chapter 25: Doubts

**Hey everyone!**

**I really apologize for the ridiculously long wait for this chapter - and I apologize in advance for the fact that the flashback I promised will be in next chapter rather than this one. *I'M DOUBLE SORRY LIVINGINFAIRYTALE!* (This chapter ended up being WAY too long to include it - and the flashback flows better with next chapter, I think... BUT DO NOT WORRY! I swear on my honor that next chapter will be up by the end of the week - flashback included!) Also, part of the reason you dutiful readers had to wait so long is because I meant to include a whole other chapter to this story, but I ended up scrapping it for now. It is pretty funny, and rather one-shot-ish, so if you want, I can post it later for you who want to see it...**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS!**

* * *

><p>How could he?<p>

How could he _not_?

Those two questions had been eating at him all week long – ever since he had woken up in that Infirmary bed – and thinking about them now corroded his insides, until he felt he might collapse under their weight.

Jonathan Morgenstern studied his reflection as he fastened up his formal shirt; his pale fingers worked at the buttons quickly, with skill – but his questions still haunted his thoughts. And because of them, Jonathan couldn't help but feel that his fingers were somehow not his own as he stared at them.

They were the long, slender, callused fingers of his father, his dirty conscience seemed to taunt him – and hastily, Jonathan looked away from his hands.

But what he saw when he glanced up was not any better.

Everything reflected in his bedroom mirror – his eyes, his face, his nose, his lips, his fair skin – was exactly like his father's.

It _was_ his father's.

Slowly, Jonathan stopped dressing himself and ran his fingers tiredly through his white hair – and it came as a small comfort.

That snowy hair may have been the same shade as Valentine's, but there was a subtle wave to it that his father's did not have – it was a sort of rolling, like the Idrisian fields that surrounded the Manor house – and Jonathan could see his biological mother there, lingering like a shadow. Jocelyn Fairchild had had curly hair, he had been told – and Jonathan had to assume it was true. He himself could not physically remember his mother; the woman had left him when he was three years old, and he had never learned for himself what she had looked like.

And although he could not exactly blame her for leaving, Jonathan wished he had at least met her – at least known her face…

Many times over the last week, Jonathan had sat down on the edge of his bed and whispered her name or whispered 'mother,' but no memories of Jocelyn had come to him, no matter how hard he had tried.

And the only mental picture that ever came from the word 'mother,' was an image of the one woman who had _been_ beside him all these years.

Jada.

_Jada_. The thought of her made him smile.

Jada also had wavy hair, he noted, contentedly – and the rest of him looked completely like his father... Jonathan suspected that if someone asked him, he could almost pretend Jada _was_ his biological mother. If it wasn't, of course, for the jarring age inconsistencies.

He sighed.

But no matter what story he told or wanted to hear, Jonathan knew the truth was the truth.

His mother was Jocelyn Fairchild: Jocelyn who had thwarted the Circle's cruel plans… Jocelyn who had gone against his father's evil – and succeeded…

It was a relief, for Jonathan to know that some of her blood was running through his veins – to know that someone had believed the same goals he had, and had succeeded in accomplishing them – even if that person wasn't visible in his features. Even if his appearance was exactly like his father's.

_His father._

The thought of Valentine made the knife of questions twist again, like a physical pain, and Jonathan cringed into himself deeply.

What his father was doing and planned to do with the Mortal Instruments was undeniably wrong – it was sinister, even. Valentine was going to destroy the Clave. And if that took brainwashing people, forcing their loyalty, torturing them, killing them – he did not care. All he wanted was indisputable power over Shadowhunters, so he could 'purify' the Clave of Downworlders, in whatever means he saw fit. And once he did that, his father would rule both the world of Nephilim _and_, by default, the world of the mundanes who they were sworn to protect.

And Valentine would make him – his son – heir and prince of that corrupt world.

But Jonathan did not want any part of it: how _could_ he want any part of that?!

How could he live with himself, knowing that he had stood by and let those masses of innocent people die for his father's brutal cause? How could he watch the entire world bend its head to the control of a ruthless madman, and do absolutely nothing to stop it? How could he take power, any amount of power, at the cost of someone else's blood?

And, above all that, how could he marry Eve – Eve, the woman he loved more than the world itself: how could he marry her, make love to her, conceive a child with her, and allow her to give birth to their child, in a world that functioned that way? In a world where he had stepped aside and permitted evil to take it over like a parasite – in a world that had been created only because _other_ people's children had been murdered? And how could he sleep at night, knowing that his son or daughter, that child who he ought to love more than his own life, was only a tool – a way of perpetuating his father's tyrannous reign in that world?

No.

No, Jonathan could not allow it.

He _would_ _not_ allow it.

His father had told him once that 'to love is to destroy' – and once, Jonathan had believed him.

But ever since he had woken up in the Infirmary a short week ago, he had learned that his father had been terribly wrong.

Love had not destroyed him; love had made him strong – strong enough to crush whatever harmed the things he cared about. Strong enough to rise up and protect the future of this world.

Even if the thing that he needed to destroy was his own father.

With a tight set to his jaw, Jonathan quickly finished getting ready and strode out of his bedroom, heading towards the study-room where he and Eve took their lessons.

* * *

><p>Valentine glared into one of his papers thoughtfully, trying in vain to make any sense of the document. He had been sitting at his desk almost non-stop for the past three days, Jada knew – between incessant meetings and dreary paperwork – and she wondered if the lines on the pages even made <em>sense<em> to him anymore. After all, if anyone else had been as sleep deprived as Valentine was then, they probably would have been overcome with fatigue – but Valentine was a man of vision. A man of dedication.

He did not stop working until he had totally achieved his goals.

With a dark smirk, Jada watched Valentine do what (she suspected) he had been craving to do for the last hour or so: which was to drop his papers unceremoniously on his desk, walk across the room, and pour himself a brimming glass of scotch. Slowly, Jada smiled – and she took the opportunity to slip wordlessly from Valentine's mahogany desk to his side.

The Circle's leader raised his glass to his lips; however, before he could fully get a taste of the scotch, Jada ran her manicured hands over his shoulders, distracting him.

She could not see his face, but Jada sensed him smile.

"Are you almost finished with the paperwork?" she inquired, trailing her hands down his arms. "We've been here for over _three_ _hours_, already…"

Valentine sighed.

"I still need three or four more hours to complete the remnants of the paperwork," he murmured pensively. "Then there is one last meeting, this afternoon – and after that, yes: I will be finished."

"But that was how much work you had left _before_ we started!" Jada pouted. "I have helped you for _hours_, Valentine. Didn't it make _any_ difference?"

Humor seeped into his voice. "You could have helped me for an hour more if you had woken up at the time I asked you to."

She flashed him a regal look.

"An hour _earlier_?" sniffed Jada. "Five o'clock in the morning is early _enough_, thank you very much. Four o'clock is just ridiculous – and besides, I was in here until midnight last night, _also_ helping you with office-work, in case you forgot – so you can't accuse me of having a sloppy work ethic."

Valentine chuckled, setting his glass down.

"I never said that, and I never would," he answered. Jada was surprised to hear the sincerity in his tone, and slowly, he turned around and placed his strong hands softly on either side of her face. "You have helped me diligently, Jada… Throughout _all_ of this planning for the Mortal Instruments, you have assisted me… You must know that none of this – not even a fraction of this campaign – could have been done without you."

A touch of pride coursed through her.

To be honest, every single word that Valentine said had been perfectly true.

Jada had been hardly distant during the past week. She had been at his side almost every moment; offering advice, scrutinizing his own ideas, helping fill out the papers, organizing meetings with his officials, as well as handling his household and external business affairs for him while he worked. And above all that, she was still teaching Eve and Jonathan's lessons.

That level of dedication and hard work was hard to find in a woman. She knew it just as well as he did.

Jada truly believed in Valentine's ideals – almost as much as he did himself – and she was willing to put effort into making those ideals reality.

It was one of the things he loved most about her.

Slowly, Jada leant into him and rested her cheek against his chest. "But you are leaving early tomorrow morning…" she whispered. "Are you sure you will be able to finish everything before then?"

Without a word, Valentine dropped his fingers to her face and ran his thumb alone the line of her cheekbone. Jada was a natural beauty, like her mother, with flawless skin, thick eyelashes, full lips – but something about Valentine's eyes as he stared down at her made Jada wonder if he was thinking about her good-looks. There was something in his expression that spoke of genuine fondness – a fondness that came from more than physical attraction.

Part of her was beginning to honestly believe his affection was genuine when Valentine dropped his lips down and gently kissed her forehead.

"You are late," he murmured afterward. "For Eve and Jonathan's morning lessons."

Jada sighed.

Recently, she always seemed to be late.

"What time is it?" she grudgingly asked.

"Eight forty-five," he answered in his low voice, sounding amused. "Fifteen minutes behind schedule… You are welcome to leave, Jada… I'm very capable of finishing this work by myself."

There didn't seem to be much of a choice, really, on her part.

As unhurriedly as she dared to, Jada pulled away from Valentine's arms and sulked out of the office, heading to the study-room.

* * *

><p>Eve plodded down the Manor's wide corridor, smiling to herself.<p>

It was a beautiful day, after all – a day where Eve could taste summer peeking through the early spring weather. The sun shone brilliantly this morning, there was barely a cloud in the sapphire Idrisian sky, and when she had opened her bedroom window today, Eve had been showered with balmy, fragrant, warm air.

It was a wonderful day to be alive.

She turned a corner in the corridor, making her way to her study-room – and the first thing she saw as she came around the bend was a pleasant surprise.

Lounging against the stone wall beside the door, looking like an angel, was Jonathan. His pale skin and white hair and formal shirt seemed to blend with the Manor's colorless walls – and she almost stopped breathing when Jonathan's head turned in her direction – or when he immediately flashed a warm smile at her.

That smile seemed to glow, Eve thought with a twist of her stomach. It made her feel suddenly, inexplicably beautiful – beautiful as even _Jada_, perhaps – despite the fact that Eve's outfit was nothing more than the unimpressive jeans and the loose t-shirt that she had stolen back from her tutor's clutches. She took a step toward him – trying to hide how excited she was to see him.

"Eve," Jonathan breathed, looking pleased. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Jonathan," she greeted. Shyness suddenly took her over – then Jonathan looked both ways down the long corridor, making sure there was no one there to see them, and when he saw the coast was clear, he leant back against the wall and gladly opened his arms to her.

Eve went to him, allowing herself to melt into his arms and chest. No matter where she was, no matter what she was doing – Jonathan was the place where she felt she could be at peace. The place where she could fully belong. He was her security.

After a long minute she drew her head back, so that she could look into his face. He was beautiful, there was no doubt about that – but his charcoal-colored eyes were almost sad as he gazed down at her. Something heavy must have been on his mind, and the thought made her worry… Tenderly, though, Jonathan raised his slender hand and tucked a piece of her blonde hair behind her ear, and Eve closed her eyes, wishing that the moment could last forever.

It wasn't much of a surprise when Jonathan finally dropped his face to hers, or when she felt his lips gently found her mouth, but Eve felt the familiar, overwhelming rush of love pulse through her, nevertheless. Happily, Eve noted that her reaction to his kiss had not lessened over the last two days. The touch of his lips was still fresh, still intoxicating, still pulled her to him like a magnet, still made her shudder.

Eve honestly hoped that intensity would never fade, no matter how many times they should be with each other like this.

But softly, as softly as he had begun, Jonathan pulled his lips away from hers – and after, Eve nestled her head in the cradle of his strong neck.

"I love you," he said, wrapping his arms around her. "More than anyone or anything else, you know that?"

"Yes." With a little hesitation, Eve slid her hands up Jonathan's chest. She hadn't been quite sure how he would take it, but in the end, it seemed to please him. "I love you the same way, Jonathan… I just wish…"

Quickly, Eve bit her tongue, but it was too late. Words were irretrievable once they were spoken – and she knew that he had heard them.

Jonathan immediately tensed, in worry. "What do you wish?"

"Nothing." She drew away from the perfect happiness of his embrace, taking a step back. "I do not wish for anything."

She heard him chuckle, lightly.

"Eve," he said. Smoothly, Jonathan stepped toward her and slid his hand to her cheek, guiding her face to look up at his. His eyes were as dark as a summer night, glittering with understanding. "Tell me what you are thinking."

Her own eyes dropped to her toes. "I… was just wondering if… if we must always keep this a secret. Do you think… there will ever be a time where we won't have to hide our relationship from everyone else?"

She found the courage to peek up at his face, and saw his lips curl into a radiant grin. "To be honest, I do not see that time coming in the near future, Eve," Jonathan replied. "But it is almost your seventeenth birthday: and a year from then, as soon as you turn eighteen, we will be married. And as soon as _that_ happens, no one will be able to question our relationship." He drew her close and buried his nose in her golden, curling hair. "Not even my father."

Eve thought about that for a moment, and it gave her hope. "You sound very sure of yourself," she remarked, with a teasing note to her voice.

Jonathan chuckled. "Sure of what?"

"That I am going to marry you."

"Oh?" Sarcasm dripped through his words. "And should I be afraid that you _won't_ marry me?"

"I didn't say that," she smoothly replied, playing with his shirt. "I just think it is a little presumptuous to assume a girl is going to marry you when you've never actually _proposed_ to her before."

Jonathan didn't say a word, and when Eve finally looked up at him, she was regretting ever teasing him like that.

Jonathan was stunned – completely stupefied, like someone had just smacked him over the head with a copy of the Codex –and for the first time Eve had ever seen, Jonathan was also lost for words.

"I… I've never asked you… to marry me?" he echoed, repeating her like a parrot.

Eve wished she could stick her foot in her mouth. "You haven't, but that – that isn't really the point, Jonathan… It was meant to be a joke, but you –"

Purpose suddenly shone in Jonathan's expression; he pulled away from her.

"Wait here," he told her.

"What?" Immediately, Eve was panicked. "Jonathan were you listening to me? I said it was meant to be a joke! I didn't mean anything by it!"

He flashed a scheming grin at her. "I know that," he replied, walking away.

"But – but Jonathan, our lessons begin in five minutes! Jada will be here any second!"

That smirk he wore widened. "Then I suppose I'd better hurry up."

"Jonathan!" Eve cried one last time – but it was pointless. In a whirl of speed that only Jonathan could possess, he disappeared down the corridor in a pale flash.

Confusedly, Eve slumped against the wall, trying to resist the urge to nervously chew off her fingernails.

Although she had never actually been _late_ for one of her lessons, she could imagine the kind of lecture Jada would rattle off if she ever was – and Eve wasn't particularly eager to let Jonathan (or her, for that matter) be the object of that kind of scolding.

Quietly, she paced back and forth in the corridor, hoping to bide her time, but it only really worked to make her more anxious than she was already feeling. Her mind worked in the silence, wondering what Jonathan was doing, what he was planning…

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, she heard approaching footsteps, looked up, and saw Jonathan's tall, athletic figure jogging toward her. She sighed in relief – until he actually got close to her and she saw the conspiratorial look in his dark eyes. "Come on," he said, taking her by the hand. "I have something to show you."

Before Eve knew it, she was being half-towed down the marble corridor at an alarming speed.

"Jonathan!" she hissed under her breath, digging in her heels. It didn't stop him. "By the Angel, what in the world are you doing?! We have classes that are about to start!"

Jonathan glanced over his shoulder at her wickedly, smiling like some sort of fallen angel. "Our lessons can wait," he said convincingly.

They were nearing one of the side staircases, and Eve guessed that if she allowed herself to go down those steps, she would be unquestionably late for her lessons and some terrible consequence would come as a result. She used the fullest extent of her strength and, after an exhaustive effort, finally managed to stop herself. Jonathan hovered with her in the stairwell; he was standing a few steps below her, though, gazing up at her as curiously and openly as a young child.

"Jonathan!" she pleaded one last time, glancing behind herself nervously. "Please – if Jada finds out that we skipped class, I don't know what she will –"

"Eve," he interrupted. Jonathan was smiling slightly, but his dark eyes were inexplicably solemn. "Do you trust me?"

She stared at him, unsure of what to say.

"Yes," she answered, "but –"

Before she could finish her sentence, Jonathan raised his face to hers and gently kissed her lips. The action stunned her, for a short moment, and despite her former aversions, she found herself letting the confidence of Jonathan's embrace seep into her bones.

"Good," he replied as he pulled away. "That is exactly what I wanted to hear."

Abruptly, Jonathan turned and was pulling her down the stairs, her small hand clasped in his. And to Eve's horror, she was not tempted to resist him, this time.

"Alright," she amended warily, plodding forward. "But… only for a few minutes, Jonathan…"

She sensed Jonathan grin – and she was not sure if that meant a good thing or not.

Once they reached the bottom step of the curling stone staircase, Eve was in a place she knew well. It was the laundry room, as well as the servant's entrance, and the entirety of the room was covered with hampers of various sheets and clothes. Luckily, Eve also noted, the room was also looking vacant and maid-less.

Jonathan looked towards the doorway to outside, and Eve suddenly caught his profile in the morning light. The sun flooded his face with warm illumination, his tumbled hair was white-gold, his skin like flawless marble, his features like an artist's mold – and the hand that held hers was kind but strong. That sunlight caught in his white formal shirt for a split second, turning it transparent, and Eve could suddenly see the lean, hard, perfect lines of his chest. She immediately glanced away, happy that Jonathan didn't turn around to see her blushing.

"Lie low," he said quietly, and then Jonathan edged open the door and took her outside.

They made a run across the lawn – heading for the back of the stables, which was quite a distance away – and when they finally got there, Jonathan stopped rather sharply and pulled her to her knees. Her heart was thundering like a lightning storm in her chest. Eve put her hand in the stable's exterior to steady herself and was surprised at how warm the rock surface was. "Jonathan," she began to protest –

But he quickly put his finger to her lips, silencing her. There was a goldmine of mischief glittering in his dark irises, along with a certain sense of urgency.

"Stay here," he whispered.

Eve stayed.

Without another word, Jonathan rose to his feet and disappeared around the corner of the stables, and Eve pouted to herself dejectedly. If she was going to miss her lessons for Jonathan's ridiculous purposes, she at least wanted to know what those ridiculous purposes _were_…

Carefully, very carefully, Eve edged toward the end of the wall and peeked around the corner – but she got no answers from her limited view. When she finally saw Jonathan, he was standing next to a beautiful, black, familiar animal – his horse, Nero. The dark, leather reigns were gripped in Jonathan's hand, and he was speaking in low tones to a pair of stable-men.

"We are extremely sorry, Mr. Morgenstern," they were saying, "when you asked us to saddle up your horse, we just assumed that you were requesting Nero, we did not think that you meant –"

"It doesn't matter what you _thought_," Jonathan replied rather cruelly. Hearing him speak like that brought a flood of memories back to Eve – after all, Jonathan had not used that tone ever since he had been Changed. But his voice was unspeakably familiar to her, even if it felt bizarre to hear that same, condescending attitude come through his voice now. She found herself compelled to listen. "And I don't have time to listen to your sniveling. I want that other horse, Domitius. And I want it _here_. _Now_."

"Y-yes, Mr. Morgenstern, we understand that, but we put all the good tack on Nero. We need a few minutes to unsaddle him and then –"

"And then _what_?" Jonathan sneered. "Then you can waste _more_ of my time with your stupidity? I don't care whether I ride with the best saddle or not… Just put the spare saddle on Domitius and you can take this saddle off Nero later – it will be faster that way."

The stable-hands looked shaken. "Y-yes. Right away, Mr. Morgenstern," they sputtered as they hurried back into the stables.

As soon as the two men were out of sight, Jonathan flashed a white grin and his mask of cruelty fell from his expression. For a moment, Eve wondered why he had used that tone with them at all, and then she remembered that Jonathan had only recently been Changed. She wondered if the stable-hands even really knew how his personality had altered. Maybe the 'old' Jonathan was the only one they expected…

Cautiously, Jonathan took Nero by the reigns, and guided him swiftly to the back of the stables where Eve was. Her blue-eyed gaze shifted back and forth between him and the horse, uneasily. And although she mentally anticipated what Jonathan was about to say to her, she was still dreading it, nevertheless.

"Eve," he whispered, confirming her dread. "Get on the horse."

"No. Absolutely not," she objected, frowning into the animal's lovely, dark eyes. "Jonathan, I won't do it – I – I can't –"

"Eve –"

"Please, Jonathan! You must know I can't do this." Her conscience and her desire to go with him seemed to be pulling her in two very separate directions, splitting her in half. "I'm sorry, but I… If I just leave my lessons like this, Jada will kill me, and I –"

She turned abruptly, ready to dutifully walk back to her study-room – but she didn't get far.

Behind her, Jonathan heaved a short sigh. Then a mere moment later, Eve felt a pair of hands on her waist, lifting her lightly off the ground, and before she could blink in response, she was sitting on Nero's steady back – with Jonathan gazing up at her innocently.

"Jonathan!" she spluttered, gaping down at him. "What are you doing?! Get me off of this horse right NOW!"

Eve was ignored.

"Let's go, Nero," was all that Jonathan said.

Then, swinging up behind her, he dug his heels into the beast's sides, and the horse took off at a run.

* * *

><p>"Jonathan, Eve. I am very sorry for being for late," Jada apologized as she shoved open the study-room door. "I seemed to have lost track of –"<p>

The door swung open – and Jada stared.

There was nothing different about the study room, in general. Her heavy, mahogany desk was in the same place, the books all arranged in the shelves the same way, the heavy drapes fell to the ground just how they always did – but as soon as she set foot in the room, Jada understood that something was very, VERY, wrong.

Instead of seeing Eve and Jonathan in their desks, Jada saw two anxious-looking stable-hands pacing around the room, wringing their hands. Neither of them were looking her in the eye.

Flicking back her rippling, raven-black hair, Jada immediately straightened, carrying herself with dignity. Usually, stable-hands were forbidden from ever entering the Manor house – unless there was an emergency of some sort, obviously – but more than once, they had fabricated mysterious 'problems' just to have an excuse to talk to her. She barely tolerated it when she was in a good mood – but now, Jada would have rather fired the whole lot of them than have to listen to their useless babble.

"What are _you_ two doing here?" she demanded petulantly, inspecting her fingernails. "I don't have time for whatever idiotic question you came to ask me. Where are Jonathan and Eve?"

One of the men took off his crooked cap, and twisted it nervously in his fingers. "I – um… Well, the both of us…" He glanced at his companion, uneasily. "That is, uh, what we came to speak with you about, Miss Jada…"

Her brown eyes narrowed sharply at them. "What are you two talking about?"

The stable-hands exchanged a hopeless glance with each other.

Sleeplessness and frustration finally took its toll, and the tutor's patience snapped. "By the Angel!" she growled, striding in front of the uncomfortable staff members. "Spit it out! Where are Eve and Jonathan?"

They winced. "Mr. Morgenstern and… Miss Eve are…"

"Are?" Jada pressured, tapping her high-heeled foot.

"They are gone."

The stable-hand swallowed – and it was the only sound in the eerily silent room.

"Gone?" echoed Jada. Her heart fluttered without reason. "Gone where?"

Another look was shared between the workers. "We… don't know, Miss Jada."

"What do you mean you _don't know where_?!" Instantly, Jada was looming over them. The color of her blood-red blouse only seemed to accentuate her righteous fury. "How could you _not_ _know_ where they went?!"

A bead of sweat glimmered on the man's temple. "They – Well, we were – Young Mr. Morgenstern came to the stables asking for us to saddle up his horse," he sputtered. "So we took out Nero – but when he came back, he said he wanted Domitius and that he was in a hurry – We went in to ready Domitius, but when we came back, the horse was gone and so were they –" Slowly, he shook his head. "We came out only in time to see them disappearing into the forest on Nero. Then we came here to tell you the news. That's all we know."

A moment of pause stretched out. Longer than she had ever known.

Suddenly, without warning, Jada roared and swiped her neatly stacked papers off her desk. "_Che cosa stanno pensando?!_" the tutor cried as the papers fluttered to the floor. "Undutiful children! Rash, stupid, _thoughtless_ children! _Jonathan_ I could have expected this from – but _Eve_?! _EVE_?!" Jada sank into her office chair with a melancholy sigh and buried her face in her hands. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "_Uccello_," she murmured. "Oh, sweet_ bambina_, what have you done? …Valentine is going to _kill_ me for this…"

She could hear the stable-hands shift uncomfortably on their feet. "I am sure… we will find them, Miss Jada," one man assured her. "They will come back –"

Jada glared. "It's not their _location_ that worries me!" she almost yelled at them. "They are the most skilled Shadowhunters the world has ever seen; I could care less about their _safety_! It's what they are planning to _do_ that I'm concerned about!"

The stable-hands returned her glower blankly. "What… they are planning to do?" the men wondered in unison.

Unable to help herself, Jada rolled her brown eyes at their stupidity. "Think with your heads!" she hissed. "Two lovesick teenagers – together, unsupervised, disappearing to an undisclosed, secluded location on horseback: What do you _**THINK**_ they are planning on doing?!"

Realization – and a slight redness – rushed to the employees' faces

The tutor sprang to her feet, her stilettos snapping with each, graceful stride. "If she comes back pregnant, I swear by the Angel –"

"Miss Jada," One of the men stepped forwards bravely, his voice apologetic. "I… do not think you need to worry about that… After all, Master Morgenstern raised Jonathan himself, taught him almost everything… Surely his son's morals when it comes to romance must be the same. I don't think that Jonathan would –"

"Valentine's _romantic_ morals?! Is that the set of values we are relying on?!" barked Jada. With an unladylike sound of disgust, she spun on her heels and made her way to the door. "You might as well start painting the nursery, for all the comfort _THAT_ gives me!"

"Miss Jada –"

"Just don't tell anyone what has happened here," she snapped. "I don't want any of this to get out."

"But Miss –" The men moved instinctively forward. "What are _you_ planning to do?"

"I'm getting _Valentine_," growled the tutor. "So that he can drag the both of them back here by their hair before anything serious happens. Assuming that it hasn't happened already… How long have they been gone?"

"About fifteen minutes."

With a ragged sigh, Jada swung out of the study-room door, going to Valentine's office.

* * *

><p>"Malachi," the Circle's leader greeted, rising to his feet. "I hadn't expected you to come so early."<p>

The tall man in front of him bowed deeply, and his long, black robes whispered around him like shadows. His cold, sharp features were bent into a fawning smile. "I was eager to discuss the final details, my Lord Valentine; I hope I have not come at an inconvenient time…"

Valentine smirked.

There was no time that could have been more convenient. The faster that he got this meeting and preparation done, the faster that he could be in New York, getting the Mortal Cup.

"Of course you have not come at an inconvenient time," Valentine said instead, offering him a chair. "You are a key piece in this operation, after all, Malachi. As Consul, you have incredible powers of persuasion in the Clave."

"The Clave is soon going to be remodeled by your hand, Lord Valentine," Malachi replied in his thick, French accent, sitting down. "My power will soon be nothing. There is nothing that I would rather do than further your plans."

Valentine smiled.

"I was very eager to come when you told me the news, though – about that girl. Is she here?" the Consul asked.

A frown replaced his former smile when he heard that.

Valentine had been forced to tell Malachi about Eve, partly because the Consul needed to know of her existence to fulfill the Circle's plans, and partly because Valentine needed to find some way to gain the Consul's complete trust. At the moment, however, he was beginning to regret ever telling him the fact.

He opened his lips to reply, but Valentine was spared from responding.

There was a quick knock at the door, and then it flew open, revealing a figure he would have been happy to see under any circumstances.

"Valentine," Jada said, sounding a little breathless. "I have to speak with –"

But as soon as she saw Malachi sitting in the chair, her voice broke off.

And as soon as Malachi turned and saw _her_, his jaw dropped open.

With a dark chuckle, Valentine took in the sight of her – and supposed he could not blame the Consul for staring. From the top of her shimmering, raven-black hair, to her clinging, crimson blouse, to her dark skirt and long legs and black high heels, Jada was immaculate. There was not a single fault in her appearance.

Her pretty brown eyes widened as she glanced his way – a question in their depths.

The Circle leader let his smirk return. "Ah, Malachi… I'd like you to meet Miss Jada Buonavento, Eve and Jonathan's tutor of eight years."

"Miss Buonavento," Malachi greeted, all-too-eagerly. "It is a pleasure to meet such a lovely and intelligent young woman." He extended his hand to her, as if he expected her to put her fingers in his palm and allow him to kiss her knuckles.

If so, the Consul must have been supremely disappointed.

Not hesitating for an instant, Jada strode past the visitor and his outstretched hand, with a half-hearted mutter that may have been a greeting in return. Malachi's face fell – and Valentine's grin widened.

"Oh dear, Miss Buonavento," Valentine murmured as Jada went to his side. When she was next to him, he leisurely took her bronzed, flawless hand in his and raised the back of it to his lips. It won him a glower from Malachi, which he pointedly ignored. "You are in such an awful rush, today… Will you not even say a friendly hello to the Consul?"

Jada didn't seem to notice the Consul, or the fact that her hand was even in Valentine's, for that matter. "I don't have time for niceties," she replied with a bit of irritation. "I have something urgent that I need to discuss with you –"

"So urgent that you had to leave Eve and Jonathan?" Valentine countered, looking her over. "What are they doing now?"

Something sparked in her eyes, beneath her long, dark eyelashes.

"They are having a _very_ in-depth study of human anatomy, at the moment," she answered, with a measure of insistence in her quieted voice. "Which is exactly what I came to _speak_ with you about –"

He smoothly upturned his free hand to her face, and slid his pale index finger to her full lips, stopping her words.

"Hush, Jada," Valentine chided with a luxurious smirk. "I'm sure it is not so urgent that it cannot wait until later… Now could you go get the file on top the cabinet for me? I need it for my meeting."

Plain disbelief – and then a needle-sharp fury flicked across her expression. Jada looked like she was going to tell him to go burn in hell, but then her gaze skimmed over Malachi, and she thought better of it. With a regal noise of disgust, Jada snatched her fingers away from Valentine and headed to the cabinet against the far wall, hissing under her breath.

He could not help but feel humored.

"So, Malachi," Valentine continued, turning his gaze from Jada, "about what you came to discuss…"

The Consul was looking past him – and judging from the glazed look in his dark eyes – it was probably at Jada.

"Malachi?" Valentine repeated, arching an eyebrow at him.

_That_ caught his attention.

The Clave official cleared his throat, attention returning. "Yes," he agreed absently. "About what I came to discuss. Of course…"

Moments after, his eyes were lost again.

"About the Inquisitors?" Valentine prompted with more force, growing impatient.

Displeasure must have shown in his voice – Malachi looked at him almost immediately, with a bit of fear in his eyes. "Yes, the Inquisitors…" he echoed.

Jada dropped the file on his desk, looking bitter. But before she could storm off to the window, Valentine gestured her over to his side with his finger – and she grudgingly obeyed. He could almost _feel_ rage coming off her as Jada perched herself on his chair arm, her arms broodingly crossed over her chest. Mentally, he knew he was going to pay for his nonchalant behavior later, but he was not too concerned about that, at the moment. It was almost worth the future punishment to see Jada this livid: She was absolutely beautiful when she was angry.

"If – If you expect the Inquisitor to be killed, Lord Valentine," Malachi began. His dark eyes studied the two of them with suspicion. "Then as I see it, there are only two options that could come to pass…"

He caught the Consul staring at Jada again, and Valentine ran a piece of her tumbling hair through his fingers, thoughtfully. Malachi glanced away.

"And what are those?" the Circle leader asked.

"Well, firstly, the Clave could be too devastated by the loss to hold an election for a new Inquisitor. And during that time, I would be required to take on both the role of Consul and Inquisitor, giving me full control."

That seemed like a favorable option. The Clave may have had some elements of democracy in it, with votes and such things, but Valentine knew that the Nephilim ultimately followed the example of their leaders. To have someone with his influence, dictating the Clave's defensive actions and its people would be an asset.

"And the second option is that they would hold an election, am I right?" inquired Valentine. He skimmed the soft tip of her black hair over his lips, and then let the lock fall back to Jada's shoulder. When the Consul nodded in agreement, he added, "and who would the candidates be?"

"Aldertree," Malachi answered. "No one else. Which is almost as good as having no Inquisitor at all, in my opinion. He is a ridiculous simpleton – he could be controlled easily."

The answer did not seem complete.

"Is there really no one else?" Valentine wondered, then. "No others who may oppose Aldertree?"

The Consul smiled at that. "There is one – that idealistic, Downworld-loving fool – Argyle Silverspear… But there is really no need to worry about that, though. I dealt with Silverspear. _Personally_…"

Jada suddenly snapped her head around and stared at the Consul, her eyes very wide. "What do you mean, you 'dealt with him'?" she demanded.

The Consul snickered to himself. "I recommended that he join the Silent Brotherhood, about a week ago," he told them. "He was reluctant to, at first, but he gave in, in the end – after all the pressuring from his fellow Council members… And once he accepted the offer, I gave my permission to shorten the acceptance time for him. Usually, it takes two months or so until one can gain initiation into the Brotherhood, even with all the training Argyle has, but I made sure he will be completed initiation in a week or so. He will be a Brother before any thought of elections could even take place."

"And he will be therefore exempt from becoming a candidate," Valentine finished, feeling pleased.

Jada looked shocked.

"But the signing of the final papers is completely optional still, no matter how much you have planned for him to become a Brother," she cut in, rather passionately. "How do you know he will not change his mind at the last moment, considering he was so reluctant to accept the recommendation in the first place?"

It was a valid point, Valentine had to admit, but the Consul did not seem too concerned.

"Apparently, there was a woman he loved, many years ago," the official replied, shrugging. "He wanted to marry her but she ran off and left him without a word… From what I hear, the only reason that Argyle has not joined the Brotherhood already is because he is still waiting for this girl to return to him – but he is losing hope, over time… It would only take a little more convincing to make him see things _our_ way, Miss Buonavento… After all, she was only a fickle woman. And she is long gone."

Jada shivered, and Valentine absently wondered if she was cold.

"Ah," sighed the Morgenstern. He gradually ran his fingertip up Jada's arm, feeling her chilled skin react to his touch. "But isn't it always about a woman?"

Malachi laughed at that. "I suppose it doesn't really matter either way," he replied obsequiously. "As soon as you are in power, Lord Valentine, we will have no need for an Inquisitor at all. Whoever holds the position at that time can be disposed of."

"You mean killed," Jada stated.

The Consul flashed a wry grin. "Only if he doesn't cooperate."

There was a momentary pause, where everyone was silent.

"You are underestimating Silverspear, I think," Valentine murmured, breaking the pause. "For many years, he has been an active proponent of Nephilim-Downworlder relations, and yet, he has become very popular with the Shadowhunters in Idris as well as abroad – in spite of his unconventional ideas… If he _was_ to become Inquisitor, he would have plenty of power in the Clave, as well as the assurance of many supporters to uphold his opinions in the case of an election. He could make things very difficult for us…"

"But my lord," Malachi countered. "He is nothing compared to yourself – even if his ideas _were_ to be accepted, even for a short time, I'm sure it would not pose any threat to _your_ final goal –"

"I am not concerned he will ultimately stop me," Valentine clarified. Certainty seemed to pour from his voice. "I am only concerned that his presence will provoke other Shadowhunters to action. I wonder if he could call them on to war."

The Consul seemed offended by the suggestion. "Even if he could, you will have the Mortal Instruments in your possession – Your power would be absolute –"

"But if there was war I would have to _use_ that power against the Nephilim," Valentine answered. "Who knows how many would be slain in that battle? How many would be lost? …And there are too few Nephilim in our midst, already – If we were to lose any more, it would be a tragedy…" Slowly, he ran his long fingers through his colorless hair, lost in thought. "No…" he decided with a slight shake of his head. "Silverspear must not be allowed to become Inquisitor, in whatever means necessary."

"Yes, my lord," Malachi replied. "I'm sure that will not be a problem."

Abruptly, Jada stood and walked to the door, her heels clicking with every stride. "I have to go back," she said, not turning around. There was an odd sort of strain in her voice – and he assumed it was because she was still angry with him. "Jonathan and Eve must be waiting for me."

Valentine smiled as she lingered in the doorway, waiting for his approval to leave. "And what about what you were going to tell me? I thought you said it was urgent?"

Her body tensed a bit. "It isn't that important, Valentine… It can wait until after you are finished your meeting," she stiffly replied.

Her answer seemed vague, making him pause, but he decided not to question her about it in front of Malachi.

After a permissive wave of his hand, Jada left the room: and the Consul's black eyes followed her – as if he was magnetically attracted to her form.

* * *

><p><strong>Phew... This chapter was hard to write... There are so many changes in point of view...<strong>

**Anyway, like always, thank-you for reading and I promise next chapter and the flashback will be up by the end of next week! (Still very sorry about that! I just figured you would rather have a chapter with no flashback than no chapter at all!)**

**Review with comments or questions, of course. And if anyone is impatient to know what the flashback is going to be about, just review asking about it and I will give you a little taste of what it is going to be about! And in case you are curious, the Consul knowing about Eve, but not knowing what she looks like plays into the plot later on...**

**Until next time,**

**Love, Fishie.**


	26. Chapter 26: Eden

**Hello everyone!**

**This has been one of my favorite chapters to write so far, so I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!**

**And I am also pleased to note that there is the long awaited flashback chapter at the end, (dedicated to Livinginfairytale, who requested it...) so if you want to read that, I hope you like it also! I'm thinking of making a cute, fluffy part 2 to the flashback, but I think I will only do it if you guys want me to... **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Mortal Instruments!**

* * *

><p>"Jada is going to kill me," Eve moaned.<p>

From behind her, she heard Jonathan chuckle. His chest was pressed against her back, and she could feel his muscles trembling as Nero plodded along the indistinct path. Once they had taken off to the forest, they had soon hit the Wards – the walls of heavy glamour that encircled the Manor house and its estate – and once they had gotten _there_, Jonathan had led them through it without a single second's hesitation.

If Valentine had seen him do it, Eve had no doubt in her mind that Jonathan would have been dragged back to the house, beaten to a bruised, bloody mess, and then thrown out to the wilderness to be left for dead. Passing the wards was absolutely forbidden – 'absolutely' being a complete and total understatement. Since she had lived in the Manor, she had been warned never to even go vaguely _near_ the boundaries of the estate without permission; Eve hadn't been _outside_ of them any considerable length of time before. And _never_ without Valentine hovering beside her.

She felt strangely bare, to not have the eldest Morgenstern at her side.

Not that she was _anticipating_ seeing Valentine any time soon, she reminded herself.

The next time they met would probably be her last.

Eve buried her face in her hands mournfully, not letting the steady rocking of the horse's step relax her. "Jada and Valentine are going to kill me," she repeated. "They are going to _kill_ me… And they'll probably do it _together_…"

Slowly, Jonathan pulled the reigns in and the horse came to a stop. Eve would have said they were now in a clearing, but that was not quite right. The forest was thick here with towering, leafy trees; trees that blocked almost all the sunlight from reaching the ground. Where they were was less of a clearing, she supposed, and more like a slightly thinner patch of tangled trunks and branches. A slight, unfamiliar sound roared around her, like a rushing of wind – but she told herself to ignore it.

"Don't be ridiculous," Jonathan assured her, swinging off of Nero's back. "You are giving my father _far_ too much credit… He wouldn't want to share the pleasure of killing you with somebody else… My guess is _he'll_ kill you, find a way to raise you from the dead – and then let _Jada_ tear you limb from limb afterwards."

Eve dropped her cheek to Nero's neck, feeling his sleek, black mane against her delicate skin.

She felt like she may cry.

"Don't worry too much, Eve… My father probably could not raise you from the dead without hiring a warlock… And that is tricky business for a guy who has spent his life trying to annihilate the lot of them," Jonathan continued, sounding amused, "Maybe we'll get lucky and the two of them will just split up. You know, my father will get to kill me and Jada will get to kill you?"

"That doesn't sound lucky to me." Eve muttered against Nero's velvety fur. He smelt like stables and the outdoors, which wasn't entirely unpleasant. "I wouldn't want to be killed by Valentine if I was you, Jonathan."

"Are you serious? I'd _much_ rather be killed by my father than by Jada…" he opposed with certainty.

Eve sighed without interest, not looking at his face. "Why?"

"Jada has those long nails," he explained, bending his fingers into claw-like shapes. "And those sharp stiletto heels, oh, and that _temper_…" His lips curled, as if he found the idea funny. "Ah, it would be a messy, painful way to die… I could foresee a lot of blood-loss…"

A whimper sounded from Eve's throat.

Some part of her sensed Jonathan grin.

"You know, Eve," he pointed out, his hands resting judgingly on his hips. "This little outing would be a _lot_ more romantic if you stopped complaining."

"_Romantic_?!" she cried. Indignantly, she sat upright on Nero, suddenly alert. Her curly hair fell around her shoulders like snarled gold thread. "You _KIDNAPPED_ me!"

He sniffed at that. "I did _not_."

Eve glared. "JONATHAN CHRISTOPHER MORGENSTERN! YOU _DRAGGED_ ME FROM MY STUDY-ROOM, _THREW_ ME ON THIS HORSE, AND _LUGGED_ ME INTO THIS FOREST EVEN THOUGH _**I SAID I DID NOT WANT TO GO!**_"

Nero snorted, almost in agreement.

"Well, it sounds bad when you put it _that_ way…" Jonathan granted, sounding pleased.

"It sounds bad ANY way you put it!" Eve countered. She grew more depressed with each word. "Now Jada and Valentine are going to be _furious_ with us – who knows what they will do?"

Jonathan didn't seem concerned. He glanced up at her, guiltless. "You're overreacting, Eve," he said, soothingly. "Honestly, they probably haven't even noticed that we are gone… It has only been thirty minutes…"

"But this is Jada and _Valentine_ we are talking about!" Eve argued. "They notice _everything_!"

"Not when it is my father's last day before he leaves for New York City…" Like a gentleman, Jonathan offered a helping hand to her, which Eve rejected. "Now are you going to get off the horse," he continued softly, "or am I going to have to awkwardly stand here until we leave?"

He gave her a slight, apologetic half-smile, and Eve was helpless to its charm, in spite of her fury.

Without a word, she swung off of Nero's back and Eve was relieved to feel her feet hit the spongy forest floor, moments later. Her narrowed blue eyes watched Jonathan, studying him as he tied Nero's leather reigns to a low-hanging branch. "What does Valentine leaving have to do with them not knowing we're gone?" she demanded.

He threw her a glance over his shoulder. Eve saw that he was smirking. "They will be… _preoccupied_ with each other," Jonathan replied delicately. "After all, this will be the last time they get to spend 'quality time' together for the next couple weeks or so…"

"Quality time?" Eve sputtered, not comprehending. The thought seemed bizarre. Smiling wryly, Jonathan turned and started walking up a grassy hill in front of them, and she automatically followed his lead. That rushing sound she noticed earlier seemed only to intensify as she hiked higher. "What do you mean? …Valentine – Valentine doesn't _spend_ quality time – with _anyone_…"

Jonathan was marching directly in front of her, so close that she could see his shoulders tremble as he laughed. "Believe me. He's willing to make an exception for women who look like Jada."

"Jonathan –" She shook her head. Eve was going to tell him to stop speaking to her in endless riddles, but there didn't seem to be much of a point. It didn't feel like she was going to understand what he was saying anyway… "But what if they _do_ notice we're gone? Then what?"

"Well. Then we're screwed."

"_Jonathan_!"

"We'll return home soon, don't worry… I only took you here to see this – and if you don't like it we can turn around and go back," he said before she could rage at him. "Now look."

They had reached the crest of the hill and were looking downwards, at a property below – and Eve gasped in awe.

It was not a familiar place to her, not in the slightest, but her heart seemed to connect to this place immediately. There were vague outlines of what might have been landscaped grounds at one point, but now the overgrown, coarse grass and underbrush had crawled over the once-beautiful gardens – making the place look wild. The outlines of what had been there remained though, and Eve could imagine what the majestic landscaping may have been like, many years ago, before it had been neglected.

A regal mansion was there too – a massive house: it was almost as big as Valentine's Manor – and it sat in the midst of the rough greenery like a gem. Its marble walls glittered creamy-pale against the rest of the scenery, catching the eye with its clean, stately appearance. It even had the same, high level of architecture as the Manor, as well – and Eve saw the intricate details lingering in the home's workmanship… Untamed, dark ivy crept up the edges of those beautiful exterior walls, now; fringing the lovely, curved staircase, curling up the thick pillars that framed the main doorway… Eve almost itched to go down there and see those towering stone pillars for herself… She ached to touch them, to walk through that majestic doorway like the house was hers…

But the thing that truly stole her breath was not the overrun gardens or the even lovely, sprawling house.

Spread out beyond the property, far to the west, there was a glimmer of something – which Eve squinted to see in the sunlight – then she realized what it was, and the rushing sound she had noticed before began to make more sense.

In the distance, the tangled, grassy lawn rolled away into the landscape – giving way to a line of pearly white sand: a beach.

Eve's mouth dropped open even more.

She had never actually been to a beach before – it was something she had only read in books and seen in pictures… But this shoreline fulfilled every imagining she had ever dreamt of – it was lovely in itself, an unblemished ribbon of creamy white sand… But past there, Eve saw that the beach itself was framing a glittering sheen of water – the largest expanse of water that Eve had ever seen.

Her eyes lingered on this detail – unable to look away.

The placid surface of water could have passed for an ocean – it didn't seem to have an end to it – but there was no smell of salt in the air… no crying gulls… so Eve had to reconsider. There was just the rush of the wind and the roar of the waves… and the swirl of the morning clouds on the horizon…

Eve's marvelling eyes went to Jonathan, her anger forgotten.

Lightly, he reached out and twined his larger hand in hers, but his focus did not waver from the scene below him. The breeze tossed his white hair, as gently as a rocking ship.

"I know the grounds don't look like much, right now," he said, squeezing her fingers softly. "It needs to be cleaned up, obviously… And I haven't really looked too deeply, but my guess is that the house will need some minor repairs, as well…" His black eyes found her then, peering into her face. "But… I'm sure we will be able to get it finished… before –"

"Before what?"

Jonathan glanced at his feet, then, almost shyly. "Before we get married… _If_ you decide to marry me, that is…"

Joy and a sudden rush of adrenaline swelled in Eve's chest. "Jonathan…" she murmured – her voice full of love. "I never said –"

"It doesn't matter…" he replied quickly, waving away her concern. "If you like the property, then go take a look… You want to, don't you?"

Slowly, Eve smiled and took him by the hand, leading him down the sloping hill toward the house. Their knotted fingers slid apart once they hit the base of the hill, though, and Eve almost skipped into the gardens with glee. Each step that contacted with the ground seemed perfectly right, like she had been meant to find this secret place all her life. With a slight feeling of disappointment, Eve let Jonathan lag behind as she strode through the savage greenery, feeling the high grasses whisper through her spread fingers.

Somehow, Eve was giggling and spinning in a single, happy circle before she knew what she was doing – but when she finally caught a glance of Jonathan, she stopped.

He was close to the center of what had been the gardens, lounging against the pedestal of a massive statue of a man – and Eve was too enthralled with the rest of the scenery to really tell if the figure was of Shadowhunter lore or from Greek or Roman mythology. Intrigued, Eve noticed that Jonathan's arms were crossed against his chest, and his eyes, his midnight-black eyes, were flashing with a strange, heavy light. It made those eyes appear even darker than usual – which, Eve admitted, meant they looked very dark, indeed, as he studied her. Heat melted in her stomach as she watched him stare at her like that.

All her movements stopped, until it was only the wind off the water that caught in her clothes and tossed her hair. "Jonathan," Eve finally said, fighting against the dryness of her mouth. "What… is this place?"

Deliberately, Jonathan dropped one of his arms to his side and brought his hand to the statue. He fingered a small bronze plaque that was etched into the marble pedestal – with almost painful slowness – and Eve was captivated. Breaking out of her stillness, Eve paced across the brambling lawn until she was at Jonathan's side and could read the inscription:

'_For the name of Morgenstern,'_ it read, _'and for the continuation of its venerable blood:__aut vincere aut mori.'_

"Either conquer or die," said Eve, translating the Latin. "But… this statue was created for the Morgensterns – why is it here?" she asked, glancing around. "Why is it not at the Morgenstern Manor-house?"

The weight of Jonathan's stare did not lighten. Slowly, his slid his fingertip over the words, soaking them in. "Because this _is_ the Morgenstern Manor-house, Eve… This is where my father was born and raised."

Her lips parted in shock. Everything, every detail of this place, seemed to come alive and into new focus.

"But – but how is that possible?" she demanded, stepping closer to Jonathan. "How – how could it become… become like _this_?"

"The Manor has been deserted for over two decades…"

"Two decades?!" she squeaked. It felt like all too much for her – how could anyone desert a place this beautiful? "But _why_ has it been deserted for over two decades?!"

Jonathan paused – and then sighed lightly.

"My grandfather, my father's father, was killed by a rogue werewolf when my father was quite young," he slowly explained, "Once that happened, my father left this place and never returned to it… He stayed in Alicante until he was married to my mother and they, in turn, moved to _her_ parents' Manor in the country… Then after the bloodshed of the Uprising and the Circle's violent dissolution, no one dared set foot on this land, not even with all the wealth it offers… This place is considered cursed, by most people… I think I am the only one who has been on the property for years."

Silence set in between them.

As quickly as she dared to, Eve reached out her hand and slipped it soothingly over Jonathan's where it rested on the dull, metallic plaque.

"Then why?" she whispered. "Why bring _me_ here?"

He knotted their fingers together and drew them to his chest, putting Eve's palm over his heart. "Because I wanted to see if you liked it… This manor is mine, by birthright, so I can do what I want to with it." His dark irises skimmed her features, judging her reaction. "I am hoping to restore this place to its former glory, and I want us to live here after… after we get married." He cupped her cheek tenderly in his free hand. "That is," he added tentatively, "_if_ you want to marry me, like I said… This is _your_ choice to make, Eve."

For a moment, she said nothing – and her only response was to play with his fingers.

"So," the blonde finally, quietly answered, teasing him. "Is that your proposal, Jonathan? That is _really_ how you are asking me to marry you?"

He blinked at her, in a moment of confusion.

Then he smirked devilishly.

"Of course not," Jonathan replied. His eyes flicked mischievously from her smile to her blue eyes. "In _this_ ruined garden? …A proposal like that would be far too wishy-washy and sentimental. I would never ask you to marry me that way…"

Eve giggled. "Oh? Then how would you ask me, Jonathan?"

Shamelessly, Jonathan leant forward and kissed her lips, as casually as if he had done it a hundred times before. It made Eve shudder down to her bones. "Well," he murmured against her mouth. "Since you asked so nicely…"

Without a moment's hesitation, Jonathan swung Eve effortlessly into his arms, and she laughed all the louder as he walked her across the messy, uneven lawn – holding her like a fainting damsel in distress. Closing her eyes, Eve circled her slender arms around his neck, blissfully, and she could almost imagine that it was many years from now, and that they had done foolishly romantic things like this a million times over… that this moment was only one in an eternal future of happiness…

Her stomach melted with pure joy, at the thought.

But at the exact same time, Eve was reminded of what she and Jonathan had done _today_, how many rules they were breaking by being here now – and with a determined frown, she forced all those thoughts away… Worrying about what would happen to them _later_ was not going to help her now or makes things easier on her… And if she was going to be punished for this, Eve wanted to make sure it was at least _worth_ the coming vengeance…

She nestled her head into Jonathan's shoulder, smelling the beautiful, spicy scent of his skin and hair, but before she could get too comfortable, Jonathan gently put her down on the ground – and Eve was mildly shocked.

Instead of sensing brambling plants under her feet, Eve was realized she was standing on a satin-smooth surface – one that she could feel was warm, even through the soles of her shoes…

Slowly, her eyelids fluttered open, and Eve finally saw that Jonathan had placed her on the white, sandy beach, facing the massive expanse of water… The roar of the water seemed to rush into her bones, saturating her – and the water glittered in the morning sun like a meadow of diamonds…

Jonathan lingered close to her side, with a smile that could have made even a heart of _ice_ melt with its sweetness.

"No… If I was to propose to you, Eve," Jonathan answered, turning to her. "I would probably propose to you in a more romantic setting than beside that ruined manor house…or in its chaotic, hideous gardens…"

"More romantic? Like on a beach, for example?" offered Eve, glancing pointedly at the sand surrounding them. She was catching on to what Jonathan was doing, and had to smile as he did it.

"Yes…" Jonathan pondered thoughtfully, sliding his fingertip up her bare arm. "A beach would be nice…"

Heat rushed to her face as Jonathan touched her, and she attempted to shove the reaction down, unsuccessfully. "And what would you do if you got me on a beach?" Eve inquired again, going along with his game. "How would you actually make the official _proposal_?"

Chuckling, Jonathan drew back his hand – and Eve sighed in relief.

"I'm glad you asked," he replied in a low voice. In a few graceful steps, Jonathan was standing in front of her, demanding her full attention. There was an undercurrent of bold passion beneath Jonathan's mask of humor – it shone in his irises like flames. "If I was going to make an official proposal to you, Eve, I think I would probably begin by telling you that I have always been raised to show absolutely no vulnerability or fear – to anyone… I would say that my father always told me that to be a Morgenstern meant to hold your head high in any situation and to never show humility or remorse… I was taught to uphold the Morgenstern name by remaining proud and dignified…" Jonathan reached out and took Eve's hands in his. "And I would probably add that part of being proud like a Morgenstern means that you never go on your knees – for anything or anyone…"

A glimmer of emotion flashed in Jonathan's black eyes, then – and he sunk down to the sand.

Before Eve knew it, Jonathan was on the beach, stooping before her on one knee.

Eve stared in utter shock.

"But I would tell you that my family name means nothing to me," Jonathan continued, gazing up at her intently. "And I would tell you that I would abandon all of my father's teachings, in a heartbeat, if it could prove to you how much I am totally and completely in love with you, Eve."

A burst of happy emotion clenched her throat, stopping her from speaking.

"Jonathan," Eve managed to choke out.

But his eyes were unspeakably sad – yet so full of affection – and the sight of that confliction brought tears to Eve's eyes. Jonathan should not be sad, she told herself… He should not have to feel that way…

Jonathan lowered his gaze to his toes, wretchedly.

"I would probably also tell you that I _know_ I'm not worthy of you, after all the terrible things I have done to you over the years…" he continued. "And I would tell you that I am being totally selfish by asking you to marry me anyway, because you deserve to be in the arms of a much, _much_ better man than _me_… But I would beg you to have mercy on me, in spite of all of that…" His black eyes rose to meet her face, full of pain and hope. "And I would ask that you give me the greatest pleasure that I could ever hope for… which is that you would marry me, Eve – and that you would allow me to make you the happiest woman that ever walked this earth."

Wetness clouded Eve's vision as she regarded Jonathan, and that wetness threatened to spill over into tears.

"And… And how would I accept your proposal?" she asked tightly, fighting the urge to cry.

His dark gaze shone with gratitude – and a bit of surprise, as if he had thought she might refuse.

With great deliberation, Jonathan put her hands to his lips; he kissed her palm, then all along her fingers, and then the sensitive skin of her fingertips. "If you wanted to accept," Jonathan murmured. "Then you would drop to my level, and you would kiss me and tell me that being with me is all you ever wanted, and then you would –"

Without a sound, Eve fell to her knees in front of Jonathan, flung her arms around his neck, and covered his lips with hers, cutting off his statement.

Jonathan froze for a split second of shock – then his body recovered from his surprise, and he pulled her close.

His arms encircled her; embracing her, keeping her safe and warm, and making her stomach twist into pointless knots as Eve slid her hands eagerly up his chest and placed her fingertips on Jonathan's neck, letting him take over her consciousness.

He sweetly moved his mouth across her skin, encouraging her lips to part. And when she did it, he kissed her more deeply – and ran his fingers through her hair… Eve's hunger didn't subside though, even as his lips pressed down on hers.

She gripped Jonathan's shirt-collar, tugging him down on top of her as she lay down in the warm, pale sand. And as crazy as this passion seemed to be, Jonathan did not deny her the chance to feel it… He kissed her for a minute longer, letting Eve fan the flame of her desire – but eventually, Jonathan drew away from the reach of her kisses, before things could get too out of control.

It was a good thing, some part of her mind told her as Jonathan's warm mouth finally left hers…

It was a good thing that Jonathan had that kind of self-control…

It was good to know he would never take her farther than she was ready to go.

But that optimistic part of her didn't seem to be the part of her that controlled her facial expressions: Eve pouted as he pulled away – and she heard Jonathan chuckle.

"It is only one year, Eve," he whispered, dropping one last, affectionate kiss to the tip of her nose. She didn't feel convinced. She wished he had not stopped kissing her. "We are going to be married in one year: You only have to wait that long… And the time will pass very quickly, I think…"

An unhappy crease formed between Eve's eyebrows, showing her discontent.

With a wry smile, Jonathan rolled onto his back beside her, slipping his strong arm underneath her neck. And enthusiastically, Eve nuzzled close to his side, resting her blonde head on Jonathan's shoulder. The sand molded under them like a cushion, and Eve momentarily wished she could fall asleep there with Jonathan – having the beach as her bed and the roaring of the water as her lullaby.

"I love you, Jonathan," she breathed, her eyelids feeling heavy. "And it… it isn't a burden for me to love you, like you think… There is no one else in this world who I would want to marry more than you… I don't even want to _think_ about another boy that way."

He rested his chin against her cheek, fondly. "That is good," he answered a bit sarcastically. "Because I will be the only boy my father will ever _allow_ you to marry…"

Eve smiled.

"You say it like it is a bad thing, Jonathan," she whispered. Eve brought her hand to Jonathan's pectoral muscles and traced circles on his chest. His pulse sped up, slightly, as she did it. "If your father had not taken me in and 'forced' me to love you as you say, I might have never met you… Then I would never know what it is like… to be this happy."

Thoughtfully, Jonathan paused.

"But you _could_ have found someone else, if your life had been different… You'll never really know, now."

"Jonathan." Apprehension twisted like a dagger in Eve's heart. She raised herself on her elbows. "How could you say something like that? I love you –"

"Hush, Eve," he purred soothingly, stroking her arm with genuine tenderness. "I know you love me – I didn't mean to upset you, I'm sorry… It's just…"

She lowered her cheek to his shoulder again. "Just what?" she said timidly.

He glanced at her, with love and something else.

"Well, have you ever _wondered_?" he asked in reply. "Wondered if anything that my father does is… wrong?"

"Wrong?" The word seemed foreign on her tongue. Valentine was never wrong. "What… do you mean, Jonathan?"

He dropped his head back into the sand, his expression looking serene on the surface.

But Eve could tell he was feeling far from serene as he answered her.

"Well, take anything my father does, for an example," Jonathan said casually. "Like… like how he despises Downworlders, and how he says they are as bad as demons and how he wants to destroy them…"

"But what about it?" inquired Eve.

"Well… What if he was wrong? What if… if Downworlders weren't just bloodthirsty demons?" Jonathan shifted against her. "What if they were just _people_, like mundanes, or even Shadowhunters?"

The suggestion was bizarre. "But they _aren't_, Jonathan… They are demons."

"But imagine if they _were_ normal people, Eve." A strange pleading filled his voice. Jonathan seemed desperate to make her understand. "Imagine if my father was killing a race of perfectly innocent people for no good reason other than because they were different… And imagine if we went along with what he said was right, only to see later that he had ulterior motives… and to see that we had thoughtlessly believed his lies about Downworlders… What would that make us?"

Eve wanted to make sense of Jonathan's words – she _wanted_ to understand – but everything came to a jumbled mess in her head when she tried to sort it out.

"So… Are you saying… that Valentine would deceive us?"

"No, Eve, of course not," Jonathan assured her, pulling her close. "Not deceived, necessarily… More like… he just made wrong assumptions about how things were…And then he taught us those assumptions, expecting us to follow them… But wouldn't you want to do something, if that was the case? Wouldn't you want to _protect_ those people from being unjustly killed?"

She narrowed her eyes at him in puzzlement.

"But… to save them… you would have to overthrow Valentine…" she answered slowly. "You… might even have to _kill_ him."

There was a moment of silence between them, and Eve wished that Jonathan had never brought this strange topic up.

"I suppose it doesn't matter, in the end," she murmured, returning to her comfortable position at his shoulder. Playfully, she kissed his bare neck, just above his collar – but Jonathan did not relax. "It doesn't matter what _could_ be. It matters what is _real_… Valentine is _not_ wrong… You are with _me_, and I am here with _you_… Everything is alright."

Another pause sunk in.

"I suppose you're right." Slowly, Jonathan rolled to his side. And Eve was relieved to see he was smiling as he leant in and smothered her face with an army of soft, light-hearted kisses. She giggled as he finally brushed his mouth up her cheekbone and then to her ear. And the sensation of his breath on that sensitive skin made her shudder in a pleasant sort of way. "Enough serious talk, for today… We need to get back to the Manor," he finished with a teasing smirk, pulling away. "The longer we stay here, the higher the chance that Jada and my father will find out we're gone."

Eve nodded without agreeing. She wanted to stay there forever.

This place felt like Eden.

A bit unwillingly, she let Jonathan take her by the hand and help her to her feet – and then they started walking away from the beach and toward the property, closer to where Nero was waiting for them.

There was a long moment where Eve glanced over her shoulder, taking a mental picture of this place, committing it to memory – and then Jonathan wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her to his side, and Eve forgot everything else.

Happily, she cuddled into Jonathan again, feeling his warmth and the safety of his embrace melt into her body…

But when she glanced up at Jonathan at last, to smile at him – his face was stony and his gaze was distant, like a mask of stone.

Her smile dropped from her face.

"Jonathan?" Eve wondered as they stepped from the beach to the lawn. "Is… is everything alright?"

In an instant, Jonathan's expression transformed.

"Yes." Suddenly, his gaze focused down on her with a wealth of love, and then he nuzzled his lips affectionately into her golden hair. "I have never been happier in my life, Eve… Why?"

"Oh… Nothing…" she murmured, smiling at his touch. She must have just been seeing things. He looked perfectly fine. "It doesn't matter, Jonathan…"

* * *

><p>When they finally got back to the Manor house, about half an hour later, it seemed that Jonathan's former predictions had come true.<p>

The stable-hands weren't actually in the stables, so they had been able to return Nero without any level of fuss – and no one had seemed to catch sight them as they had snuck from the stables to the servant's entrance, either.

They swung through the simple wooden doorway, hand in hand, and Eve had to giggle as Jonathan gently pinned her against the wall of the laundry-room once they were inside and kissed her lips. As much as she still felt guilty about ditching her lessons, Eve had to admit it was a bit of an adrenaline rush to have done something so completely against the rules… "Jonathan," she chided. "Someone may see…"

But he did not stop kissing her – and she did not really want him to.

His lips curled into a smirk against hers as he took her hands and began to walk backwards, leading her up the spiral, stone staircase. "There is no one here, Eve." he answered between kisses. "See? …I told you we would not get caught…"

She smiled at the thought, and a moment later she grabbed Jonathan's shirtfront, turned her back to the wall, and strongly pulled him against her. Her hands found his pale hair, and then skimmed down his neck, his shoulders. She felt him chuckle at her movements; apparently, it seemed to please him.

Her body was beyond her own control as her hands moved back to his shirt, dragging him closer and closer, until he was crushed against her, his breathing ragged. It seemed like an eternity that past as they stood there like that.

Jonathan had just put his hand to her cheek when they heard a bone-chilling sound – and Eve gasped in horror.

"Aw, how cute," came a patronizing voice. "A couple of teenagers letting their hormones run wild."

Eve would have recognized that voice anywhere. Her stomach dropped dizzyingly to her toes.

With a sound of dread, Jonathan paled and shoved away from her in an instant, looking as if he was staring death itself in the face. Hastily, he backed a few paces away, fumbling with the collar of his shirt. Eve hadn't even noticed until then that half the buttons on his shirt had come undone, and she quietly wondered if she might have had something to do with it. His chest was racing up and down as he stared toward the source of the voice.

"Jada," Jonathan stuttered, eyeing their tutor warily. "How – how long have you – how did you _get_ there?"

Cautiously, Eve turned her head and glanced nervously in the same direction that Jonathan was, though she knew what she would see. Jada was sitting on the stone steps, a mere four feet away, her long legs crossed, her brown eyes narrow and humored – and to Eve's dismay, she looked like she had been lounging there for a while. Jada held a metal nail-file casually in one hand, and it glinted dully in the low light as she flicked back her thick, waving hair. Even then, she was gorgeous beyond belief. And the tailored suit-jacket she was wearing made her tiny waist look smaller than ever. Eve saw a crimson blouse peeking out of that jacket and she swallowed.

"I walked here," Jada replied shortly, shrugging. Eve could see pent-up emotion in her tutor's posture – but that emotion did not seem to be anger. Her voice was almost sad. "But don't feel too bad about not noticing, Jonathan… You looked like you were rather busy, at the time."

Jada glanced at Eve pointedly, then back to Jonathan again, and Eve felt her cheeks blazing with embarrassment. There was a pause, and then Jada slipped the nail file up her sleeve with an experienced air, leaving Eve to wonder what other sharp, potentially fatal instruments she had hidden in her coat. The possibilities made her cringe.

"Jada –" Jonathan spluttered. "What this looks like – we didn't –"

The tutor raised a black eyebrow at him.

"Make love to each other?" she answered. Elegantly, Jada rose to her feet, brushing off her black skirt. Eve gaped at the shameless assumption of her tutor. "At first I thought that that was what you two were doing… But then I thought about it, and I realized that it was ridiculous to assume that. Eve is a little nun… She might tease you for a time, Jonathan Morgenstern, but she would never let you go farther than her conscience would allow… And you would never force her, with the way you've become now…"

Neither Jonathan nor Eve said a word.

A flitter of sorrow passed over Jada's expression as she slowly turned and walked up the stairs. "Come," she demanded, "_before_ your father finds out what you've done. He won't be so lenient with you two as I am… And you have studies that need to be completed…"

Eve was shocked.

"But – but Jada… We – we disobeyed – we ran away from the Manor," Eve sputtered. "… Aren't you going to… punish us?"

"And what good would that do?" Jada asked blankly. "Even if you _had_ made love to each other, I could not be angry with you for long… I don't want to play anyone's fool, and I refuse to be a hypocrite… You may have disappointed me, by skipping your lessons, but whatever you two do with each other is none of my concern – and I am in no place to be giving you morality lessons… As long as Valentine doesn't hear about it, no one has to know…"

Something dark and concerned took over Jonathan's eyes.

"Jada?" he replied guardedly. "Did… something happen – with my father? Are you –"

"Tell me something, Jonathan," Jada interrupted, turning back around to face them. Her brown eyes were wide and miserable – and Eve noticed that her tutor's hands were clenched into shaking fists. "Do you love her? Do you love Eve?"

"Yes," Jonathan answered without a second's hesitation. The confidence in his voice was almost unsettling. "I love her more than anything."

"And would you die for her?"

"In a heartbeat."

With a little nod, Jada gracefully descended the few steps between them – but instead of going to Jonathan, the tutor went to Eve, and cupped her soft hands around her pupil's face. The young blonde was shocked beyond speaking – Jada rarely ever touched her in such a way. Eve glanced to Jonathan, unsure of what to do, but he did not seem worried. His black stare was level and calm.

"Eve," Jada murmured. Tenderly, the tutor raised Eve's face, encouraging the girl to look her in the eye. It was absolutely baffling to see the amount of pain in Jada's expression – to see someone who Eve thought was so helplessly strong on the verge of breaking. "If you never remember a single lesson I teach you, _bambina_ – I want you to remember this one: What you have with Jonathan, this love you two share: it is special – do not let it slip away from you… Do what you must do, be who you must be, change what you must change – but never lose him, even if it seems like all odds are against you… And never turn your back on him – or I can promise you will come to regret it." Slowly, Jada stroked her thumb over Eve's cheek, her eyes full of remorse. "Do not be stupid like me, _uccello_… You never know how important something is until it is gone forever. Especially when it is love. You can forget many things, but love like this is something you never forget."

Her tutor's jaw worked as she finally broke her gaze with Eve and dropped her bronzed hands from her student's face. A moment later, Jada was facing Jonathan, her shoulders tight.

"Jada," Eve breathed.

But Jada did not seem to hear her.

"I really should tell your father about this, Jonathan," Jada told him. "You know how much trouble I will be in if he finds out that I kept this from him…"

Jonathan's voice was sympathetic. His hand touched her shoulder. "You could tell him it was all my idea, Jada… That way he would not be so angry at you or Eve…"

A thin noise sounded from Jada's throat, and Eve was surprised to note it was chuckling. "No," the tutor whispered a little sarcastically. "I could not do that… No one deserves to feel your father's wrath, not even you." Quickly, Jada raised her fingertips and touched Jonathan's cheek, in an expression of total affection. "Damn you, Jonathan Morgenstern," she breathed with a smile. "Damn you for making me love you like a son."

Silent confusion passed over Eve as she stood on the steps, watching Jada turn away from her students, walking up the stone steps to the foyer beyond.

* * *

><p><strong>How did you like the chapter? <strong>

**I personally liked to see the Eve/Jonathan interaction in this one, but tell me if you guys agree in the comments... **

**P.S. Did any of you who read my other stories get the way Eve called the Manor Eden? *cough* intended reference *cough, cough* :)**

**Anyway, If you want to read the flashback, it is right below. And for context, it takes place the day after Eve first arrives at the Morgenstern Manor - a day after Chapter 2, in this story... Like I said, I am thinking of adding a little part two to the flashback, but review if you want that or else I might not post it...**

**Thank you for reading!**

**Until next time,**

**Love, Fishie.**

* * *

><p>Eve's first morning in Valentine's Manor was a dreary one.<p>

She had peeled open her blue eyes, only to see a strange woman lingering near her new bed, her hands resting insistently on her thick, wide hips. She was rather pretty, Eve thought: the woman had pale skin, like cream, and she also had dark-brown hair, with almond-shaped chocolate eyes and an elegant set to her jaw – but she looked almost older than Mother – and her narrow mouth was just as stern and strict. There was nothing, it seemed, that Eve could find distinctly suspicious about this woman, however. The ruffle-haired blonde just blinked up at the strange presence, unsure of what to do.

"Ah," the sturdy woman murmured, straightening up to her full height. Her voice was far softer than Eve had imagined it to be. "So _you_ are the little Eve."

With a nod, Eve sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.

Valentine had given her a room that was very much like her old one, except for that everything in _this_ room was much finer. Her four-poster bed was a masterpiece of crimson and gold trimming, with a fabric canopy that towered far above her head as she slept. There were even _curtains_ around her mattress, ones that fell in heavy swaths over the posts. It made her feel like royalty.

The unfamiliar woman took a seat at the edge of that bed, regarding Eve with a bit of fondness. "Mr. Morgenstern told me that your mother hurt your wrist last night? May I see it?"

Yawning, Eve extended her hand to the lady, too tired to be really suspicious. The bed-sheets pooled around her hips as she sat higher. "Don't worry… It's better now," Eve answered as the woman took a closer look. "You can't even tell it happened anymore."

She waited patiently as the lady examined her wrist for any lingering damage. That woman's expression seemed a bit startled when she saw Eve was telling the truth. "But Valentine said that your wounds were quite deep," she noted. "Are you sure that this is the right wrist?"

"Yes." Another yawn overtook the little girl, and Eve blinked tiredly. "Yes… I am sure."

"So… you healed this quickly? Without even a scar to show for it?"

"Yes." Eve was beginning to feel annoyed by her constant questioning. "I always have healed this way."

"Incredible," the older woman muttered, returning Eve's hand. "You really are… a special child." Eve was not sure what she exactly meant by those words, but she was not interested in asking, at the time. "Come," the woman continued, standing again. "It is about time you got dressed. Valentine wants you downstairs for breakfast."

Sluggishly, Eve slid out of the warm cocoon of her blankets and got to her feet. There seemed to be no point in disobeying someone who had come on Valentine's orders, even if she did not know who they were – but Eve thought she caught a bit of sympathy flashing in the other woman's brown eyes.

"Who are you?" Eve wondered as she was led to a chest of drawers in the corner.

"My name is Martha," the older woman replied. She pulled open one of the drawers and rummaged through it skillfully, searching for something. "That is what you may call me, from now on."

"Do you know Valentine, Martha?" Eve inquired again – and the woman smiled. Wrinkles creased at the corners of her eyes.

"Yes," she answered. "I have known Valentine all his life. We grew up in the same house together."

Through her sleepiness, Eve tried to process that fact. She couldn't imagine Valentine ever being young. "Then are you… are you Jonathan's _mother_?" Eve pondered.

For a moment, Martha was silent, and then she roared with a sudden wave of laughter. "Oh, no!" she answered. "Oh, no, I am not Jonathan's mother – and thank the Angel for it…" She reached back and touched her tightly pulled-back hair – almost in embarrassment. "Many women wish that they could have that 'honor', but I know better. God pity any woman that ever catches the eye of Valentine Morgenstern… Their stories always end in misery."

Eve stared on in confusion. The words that had just come out of Martha's voice didn't make any sense. "Then who are _you_?" she inquired. "How do you know Valentine?"

Martha chuckled. "My family is not descended from Shadowhunters, like you or Valentine… We are mundanes, but the kind who are born with the Sight and can see the Shadow World… My family members have served the Morgensterns for hundreds of years… So my mother also worked in the Morgenstern household; she raised me and taught me there to do the same – and that is where I met Valentine… He was born when I was six."

"Oh." A moment of pause set in. "So you are a servant here?" Eve asked.

"I am overseer of the household, cook, and at the moment," Martha aimed Eve a gentle look, "I am your new governess, as well, Eve."

"Oh." The little girl came forward obediently as Martha neared with a garment in her hands, and Eve wondered how this new life in the Manor would be like.

But she did not have much time to ponder over the questions.

A few minutes later, she was outfitted: Eve had been put into a knee length, pale-blue dress, her long, golden curls had been kindly and carefully brushed, and she had simple shoes slipped on her feet. Unlike Mother, it appeared that Martha seemed to _enjoy_ fussing with her – which was a wonderful change for Eve, who could not remember a single time when her morning routine had been anything but tortuous.

"There," Martha said once she was finished. She made Eve spin around slowly, to inspect her work. "You are ready."

Eve beamed at her new governess.

"Thank you, Martha." With a playfully elegant air, Eve bent low and curtsied to the older woman – and Martha laughed loudly at her gesture.

"You really are a lovely, charming little thing," Martha murmured with a shake of her head. She stepped forward and took Eve by the hand, leading her out of the room. "It's no wonder why Valentine chose you for Jonathan."

There was no real response that Eve could give to that; she could only follow Martha's guiding hand through the corridors of the Manor and down the massive stone staircase in the main foyer, making their way into an adjoining corridor. Suddenly, it felt, Martha stopped at the mouth of that corridor, and pointed to an open door at the far end of the hallway. "That is the dining hall, where Valentine and Jonathan will be waiting for you," she explained. "But I won't be joining you – Go ahead," she added, when Eve hesitated, and the little girl was forced to listen to Martha.

The woman watched Eve with a level of affection as the little girl tentatively slid her hand away from her grip and began pacing down the wide, marble corridor. Eve's shyness was short-lived, though. A moment after she started walking by herself, a very tall, very powerful-looking figure paced smoothly out of the dining-room doorway to meet her, and Eve was filled with relief.

"Valentine!" she exclaimed happily, moving to him. The eldest Morgenstern smirked lightly as she neared, and Eve was again awed by the handsomeness of his striking features. He wore a dark suit, much like he always did, which made him appear very big and strong indeed, as Eve came in front of him. Thankfully, he stooped low when she was at his feet, making himself closer to her height.

"Good morning, Eve," Valentine greeted smoothly, studying her doll-like face. "I see that Martha did well with getting you ready." His black eyes flicked over Eve's little shoulder, seeming pleased, and Eve guessed he was looking to where Martha was standing.

"Yes," Eve agreed for her governess's benefit. "I like Martha very much. She is very kind to me."

Valentine returned his gaze to Eve's face, his smile widening. "And did you find your rooms to your liking, Eve?"

She nodded vigorously, making her golden curls bounce. "Yes," she answered. "I like them very much, as well, Valentine. They are beautiful. Thank you."

Her reply seemed to please him. There was a fondness in his expression as he brushed the back of his fingers softly over her cheek. "I am glad to hear it," he said finally.

A snorting noise came from behind Valentine, then, and then the older man instantly rose to his feet, rather stiffly. Eve was a bit surprised to see Jonathan saunter out from the dining-room doorway, then, with his arms crossed arrogantly over his chest. He was wearing a simple black t-shirt with black pants, and it made his pale hair and skin seem bizarrely white as he glared up at his father. He was avoiding looking at Eve entirely, though – and it made her frown at him.

"Is there something keeping you, Father?" Jonathan asked incisively.

Valentine's face lost all its affection and smiles. "No, Jonathan… There is nothing keeping me…" A moment came and passed, then Valentine gestured to the door and turned to walk inside. "Come, Eve," he commanded.

But there was an interruption.

"Mr. Morgenstern!" an unfamiliar voice called.

Valentine turned to the source. There was a plainly-dressed man jogging towards them from the other end of the corridor. Urgency radiated from his posture.

"One of the stable-hands… Give me a moment," Valentine said to his son. Then he went to meet the stranger, leaving Jonathan and Eve alone together.

The little girl glanced over her shoulder to see if Martha was still there, but the governess had left, and Eve's sense of security had gone with her.

Jonathan glared at the wall in front of him. "Don't think you are special, little Angel-girl," he spat in a quiet tone, not staring at her. "My father will tire of you soon enough, and when he does, he won't be so kind to you anymore."

Eve felt that familiar anger well up in her at the sound of Jonathan's words. "You know," she hissed in an equally low voice. "If we are going to have to do this 'marrying' thing later on, you could at least _try_ and get along with me first."

"I don't _want_ to get along with you!" he growled, finally looking at her. The scowl he wore could have sliced any normal person to the core, but Eve was not affected. "You're nothing but a little Angel _brat_… A rule-following, powerless, pathetic, spoiled _girl_… You aren't _anything_ like me."

Eve balled her hands into fists. "Well, if you are going to act _that_ way then I don't want to know _you_ either!" she vowed. "I hate you!"

Jonathan perked up at that last statement, with intrigue.

"You _hate_ me?" he echoed, in surprise.

"_Yes, I hate you_!" Eve repeated. Valentine was still talking with the other man, unaware of what was going on between the two children. "You have done nothing but treat me like a _disease_ since I walked in the Manor! Why would I _not_ hate you?!"

"But… you are an _Angel_-girl," Jonathan marvelled again. "You… you are like that other boy… He couldn't even see his stupid pet bird die without crying about it…"

"Well, if I saw _you_ die, I wouldn't cry about it!" she snapped. "I don't _care_ what this other boy does, but I can't _stand_ you! And I hope I never see your ugly face _ever_ _again_!"

A strange sort of approval passed over Jonathan's features. He seemed almost happy with her.

"And you aren't half as bad as you think you are," she raged on. "I could be just as bad as you any day!"

His black eyes lit up.

"Then it's a challenge!" he stated, gleefully. "If you can be as bad as me, I'll be your friend and I'll try to get along with you… If not, then I never have to accept you here at the Manor."

"Fine," Eve barked. "It's a deal."

"Good."

Sticking up his nose, Jonathan swung back through the dining-room doorway, leaving her by herself in the corridor.

But reality sunk in an instant later, and Eve was suddenly hit with a wave of regret and panic.

What had she done – and what had she agreed to? What would Jonathan make her _do _that was so bad? The possibilities were too many and too horrible to consider. She just hoped that Jonathan would be bluffing about the challenge, or that he would forget about it before too long…

"Eve," Valentine's voice was insistent, but not cold. He had finished conversing with the man and was striding towards the dining-room door with his graceful, fluid steps. "Come."

Eve went, her head drooped guiltily.

She hoped that nothing horrible would come out of Jonathan's challenge.

* * *

><p>Time passed very quickly at the Manor, Eve discovered.<p>

Before she knew it, the days had turned into weeks, and the weeks had turned into almost a month – but Jonathan had not brought up their challenge again, ever since that day.

Not that Eve really minded – she was happy to see that there was not going to be any ridiculous feud between the two of them – and after almost a month, it didn't seem likely that it was ever going to happen.

Her month had been a very busy one, though. Martha was giving her very basic academic lessons, but the bulk of what she had learned was not school studies. Eve had had to learn a very rigorous regimen of etiquette – even just to _function_ in the Manor house. Meals, conversations, even asking _questions_, seemed to have an army of mini rules attached to them, like when she was allowed to do those things and how she was supposed to go about doing them. It was all very complicated, she had to admit, but the more progress she made with these instructions, the more pleased Valentine seemed to be with her – so she dedicated herself to them wholeheartedly.

Most of the time, Valentine was absent, in his office – but he seemed to make a special time for her, every evening, to hear what she had learned and to ask how she was enjoying life at the Manor.

But this morning was a different morning, Eve knew.

Before she had even woken up, Valentine had left the Manor by carriage – without so much as a word to anyone.

And although she had not asked, she assumed that Valentine was going to go see that other boy that Jonathan always complained about… It was what the secretiveness of his actions seemed to point to…

But although Valentine was gone, Eve had been given lessons today like usual. However, Martha had retired to her room after an extremely short amount of time, claiming that she was tired and that Eve could finish her readings on her own. And those readings had taken up the bulk of Eve's afternoon. She sat in the little study room where she took her lessons, curled close to the sunny window, her thick, hardcover textbook balanced on her knees. And she had almost completed her required chapter when Eve heard a knock at her doorway, and she glanced up, startled. The book fell from her lap and clattered to the floor – and she hoped it was not damaged.

The figure in the doorway looked smug. His handsome, snow-pale features were curled into a look of dark humor – and his black eyes seemed to burn in his face like hot coals.

"Jonathan!" Eve cried. "What – what are you doing here?"

Jonathan smirked at her, looking like a bad angel. Wordlessly, he held up a pair of small objects in his hand.

Eve had no idea what the objects were, of course – but they seemed vaguely familiar… She thought she may have seen something like them on her mother's dressing table before, but she wasn't quite sure. It had been so long since she had seen her mother.

"What are those?" she demanded, glancing to the things in his grip. "And what did you do with them?"

Jonathan flashed a dagger grin. "Did you forget our challenge already, Angel-girl?" he sniffed. "These are Martha's. I took them from her."

"You stole from MARTHA?!"

"I did more than _steal_ from her," he chuckled. "Come see."

Not glancing back, Jonathan walked out of the room, and Eve scrambled after him in horror. Part of her wanted to clean up her book, but Jonathan had longer legs. She knew she would not have time to catch up with him if she _decided_ to worry over her hardcover, and so she was forced to abandon it.

"But – but what are those?" she demanded again once they were in the corridor.

Jonathan threw the items carelessly over his shoulder and Eve lunged to catch them as she kept Jonathan's walking pace. "Do I look like I _care_?" he scoffed. "Look for _yourself_."

Eve studied the two things in her hands, and finally understood what they were. "Jonathan, this – this is lipstick," she clarified, holding up one object. "And this is mascara… They –"

"Yeah, yeah…" Jonathan waved away her explanations. "Whatever you girls call them. All I know," he added with a grin, "is that they make an awful mess – and that is all that matters."

"Jonathan!" Eve exclaimed in panic. "What did you –"

"SHH!" More rapidly than Eve had ever seen anything move, Jonathan swung to her and clapped his hand over her mouth. "We're in the servant's quarters now," he hissed. His face was very close to hers, and Eve could see her expression reflected in his black eyes. "If you wake her up, you will ruin _everything_!"

Out of pure fear, Eve obeyed.

The aroma of cooking and baking met her nose as Eve followed Jonathan deeper and deeper into the maze of corridors and hallways. But she remained perfectly quiet as Jonathan led her. Soon, they were standing next to a plain wooden door, one that was creaked open an inch – and Jonathan smirked.

"Go inside," Jonathan urged. "Go see."

She looked.

But what Eve saw was more terrifying that what she had expected. Gasping, Eve immediately recoiled when she saw inside.

The room was the kitchen, obviously – there were a few ovens and stoves with pots and pans scattered across them – and there was the same level of luxury here as there was in the rest of the Manor. Marble covered the counters, and there was an elegant, low couch placed against one wall…

And lying on that couch, snoring like a moose – was Martha.

Eve's jaw dropped as she saw her governess's pretty face.

It was smeared with swirls of waxy red lipstick and running blotches of black mascara.

"Jonathan!" Eve yelped in terror. "By the Angel, what did you do to her face?! She looks terrible!"

"It's funny, isn't it?" he sniggered at a whisper. "She just kept snoring the entire time… Didn't even notice what I was doing…"

"But when she wakes up –"

"We'll worry about _that_ later, Eve," he interrupted. She stared at him in shock; she hadn't even known if Jonathan had remembered her real name. "My father isn't here to punish us anyway… He's too busy with that Angel-boy to care about us… But come on… Now it's _your_ turn to do something bad, Angel-girl."

Eve squeaked like a cornered mouse as Jonathan seized her by the wrist and dragged her out of the kitchen. He plowed her through the corridors as if she was as light as air – and no matter how hard she struggled, it didn't seem to have any effect on him. His strength did not waver – and Jonathan did not release his iron grip on her until he had hauled her up the main foyer staircase and led her to an imposing set of double doors. "Jonathan," Eve objected as he shoved open those doors. "What are you making me do? What _is_ this room?"

Another laugh sounded from Jonathan, and Eve's stomach dropped. The doors swung apart and he gestured her to come inside with him.

"_This_ is my father's office," he clarified.

Eve whimpered.

"Jonathan, please… Don't make me ruin anything of Valentine's…"

"You aren't going to _wreck_ anything," he snapped. "I'm not _stupid_… He would kill the _both_ of us if you did _that_… I want you to do something _else_…"

Tiptoeing into the room, Eve took in the details. A massive, heavy-looking mahogany desk rested in the center of the room, looking like a throne, and the walls were beautifully panelled in the same, dark wood. There was a window that took up the opposite wall, giving a vast view of the Idrisian countryside. But Jonathan seemed to ignore all those things. "That," he commanded, walking to a table in the corner. His little index finger pointed insistently to an ornately-carved, crystal bottle resting there. It was filled with a dark, caramel-colored liquid. "I want you to drink _that_."

She paced toward it. "What is inside?" Eve asked nervously.

"I don't know," answered Jonathan, shamelessly. "I just know that my father drinks it and that _I'm_ never allowed to touch it – which means it must be bad."

"But what… what if it is poison or something?" Eve whispered. "I could _die_!"

"My father drinks it," Jonathan countered. "So it probably isn't poison."

"What do you mean it _probably_ isn't?"

"Well, you never know…"

"Jonathan!"

"You aren't going to _die_ from it," he assured her with a roll of his black eyes. "Stop being such a baby." Reaching up, Jonathan pulled down the square-shaped bottle and the matching glass. "Just _drink_ it… Remember what you are doing this for… Do you want to be my friend or not, Eve? Because of you don't do this, you aren't good enough for me."

She eyed the liquid as Jonathan poured some of it into the circular glass. Her heart jumped as she heard a noise from downstairs, but Jonathan didn't seem to have heard it – so Eve ignored the sound, assuming it was just a figment of her imagination.

"I want to win," she answered, more to herself than to Jonathan.

Heaving a deep breath, Eve took the cup from Jonathan – and before she could think about the consequences too much, she drank it.

The moment the liquid touch her mouth, though, Eve's stomach wrenched.

Her lips spat the contents back into the cup, automatically – but she still swallowed some by accident, and it was enough to make her cough and sputter like a drowned cat.

"IT BURNS!" she shrieked. "IT BURNS, IT BURNS!"

Jonathan lost any of his former confidence or arrogance. He paled in mortification, looking like he was staring at a ghost – and his jaw dropped in panic. Rapidly, he grabbed the glass from her hand and returned it and the bottle to its place on the table – then he seized her by the shoulders. "What do you mean it _burns_?!" he insisted.

Eve's eyes watered, both from the foul-tasting burning in her mouth and the distress and fear she was feeling. "It tastes like _chemicals_ and _leather_ and it _BURNS!_"

She started gasping uncontrollably.

"Eve –" Jonathan tried to say, rather desperately. "Don't cry, please, don't cry – I didn't mean to –"

"It's _poison_!" she howled through her shallow breaths. She writhed away from Jonathan, beating at his chest with her tiny fists. "It's poison! You made me drink poison and now I'm going to _die_!"

"But – but you _can't_ die!" Jonathan's black eyes went wide with genuine dread. "You – you passed the test! …That means you are the only friend I've ever had! You can't die _now_!"

There was a slamming behind them – a sound of an opening door – and then a smooth, low voice rumbled through their panic. Time seemed to spread out.

"Jonathan, Eve," a familiar voice greeted suspiciously. "What in the world are you doing in my office? I thought I told you two to never come in here…"

The two children revolved around, slowly – Jonathan still clamping onto Eve's narrow shoulders.

Through her bleary eyes, Eve could make out a tall, broad figure in a dark suit, with impossibly pale hair – Valentine.

Then she suddenly, inexplicably, burst into a storm of tears.

"Valentine!" Eve wailed. Forgetting all her etiquette lessons, Eve tore away from Jonathan's arms and ran to her master, clamping her little arms unabashedly around his leg. The eldest Morgenstern looked, for lack of a better term, absolutely stupefied. "Valentine!" she howled through her sobs. "Jonathan… made me… drink… p-p-p-poison… and it… burnt me… and now… I'm gonna… _DIE_!"

"You fed her _poison_?!" Valentine seethed, turning on his son. "Jonathan _Christopher_ Morgenstern, _WHAT HAVE YOU DONE_?!"

"I didn't know it was poison, Father!" Jonathan pleaded, looking very small. "I didn't _know_!"

"Well, where did you _get_ it from?!

"F-from there," the boy replied, pointing to the bottle on the table.

A moment passed, and then Valentine narrowed his eyes shrewdly at the crystal glass sitting there, still half-filled with liquid. He sighed and put his hand soothingly to Eve's head, but she still sobbed vigorously into his side, despite his consolations.

"Jonathan, you did not give her _poison_," Valentine clarified, with a measure of relief. "You gave her my _scotch_."

That seemed to cheer Jonathan considerably. "Then I didn't kill her?" he asked merrily.

"No. Not this time." Valentine's voice turned into a menacing growl. "But with recklessly foolish behaviour like that, young man, I don't think she will last very long… What in the world were you thinking? What if you _had_ fed her something deadly, then what? Do you think I put rules in place just to amuse myself? I tell you to not do things because they will _harm_ you or someone else. _This_ is what happens when you disobey!"

"I – I am sorry, Father," Jonathan exclaimed, suddenly defensive. "I –"

"Be _silent_, Jonathan!" Valentine roared. His son's mouth snapped shut immediately. "I am going to take care of Eve," he added, scooping the girl lightly up into his arms. She nestled into the side of Valentine's hard chest, her head resting on his shoulder, and Eve felt unutterably safe – even though the burning, filthy taste of that poison-drink still plagued her tongue. "And after that, I am going to teach you the meaning of the words 'vengeance' and 'punishment' by force, Jonathan Christopher, do I make myself clear?"

Jonathan shuddered, but Eve could barely see it through her teary eyes.

There was a second wave of movement at the door, then – and another voice came. "Valentine? I thought you were going to the Wayland Manor house… What are you doing home so soon?"

Valentine let out a sigh. "Ah, Martha, thank God you are here – I need you to take Eve and –"

He turned to his employee – and stared.

"What is it?" Martha asked. She rubbed her eye – smearing red and black cosmetics all down her cheek in a messy swirl. "You look surprised to see me…"

"Martha." Valentine looked ready to lose his patience. "What happened to your face?"

"My face?" She stared at her grimy hand – and gasped in horror. "By the Angel! Who did this?!" she demanded.

Jonathan snickered.

"You little _vermin_!" Martha raged, lunging toward the boy. "_What did you do to me_?!"

Eve saw and felt Valentine suck in a momentary, quick breath.

"ENOUGH!" he bellowed resonantly, his teeth clenching tight.

Everyone stopped and went perfectly noiseless, then – even Eve with her sobbing and hiccoughing. Their master looked murderously enraged.

"Martha," he snarled. "Jonathan was just caught feeding _Eve_ my scotch – during a time when both of the children are supposed to be working on their lessons with _you_… Where in the world were you when all of this was going on?"

"I was _sleeping_," Martha countered, without shame.

Her lack of remorse seemed to make Valentine even angrier. His grip did not tighten on her, but Eve felt the circle of Valentine's strong muscles tense around her, nevertheless. "You were _sleeping_." His eyes flashed like black lightening. "Are you even going to _try_ and explain yourself, or is that the only answer you are going to offer me?"

"As a matter of fact, I'm _not_ going to explain," Martha growled. "I cannot run your household, be your full-time cook, act as Eve's governess, and also give your children lessons like a tutor. Honestly, Valentine, you need to find another care-taker for these children… And Eve is becoming more and more like Jonathan by the minute. She needs some sort of feminine influence in her life…"

"Oh and how am I supposed to find someone to do _that_, Martha?" Valentine inquired coldly. Eve didn't like to hear them arguing. She nestled her head into Valentine's neck, breathing in the thin, but very pleasant smell of his cologne. "Very few Circle members even know that Jonathan and I are still _alive_… And _none_ of them know about Eve… If I ask around for a female tutor for Jonathan, you _know_ what the members will think I'm _really_ asking for… I'll have nothing but lovesick young women lining up in front of my Manor, wanting to offer me sexual favors –"

Absently, Valentine adjusted Eve effortlessly in his arms and walked to the door.

"Well maybe if you accepted some of those '_favors'_," Martha muttered under her breath, once his back was turned, "maybe you wouldn't be such an insufferable _prick_…"

Valentine's back stiffened as he revolved around.

"_What_ did you just say to me?" he demanded.

Martha smiled at him, cruelly, and dropped into a formal curtsy. "I said: 'whatever you think is _best_, Mr. Morgenstern,'" she replied sweetly.

The muscles in Valentine's jaw worked, and his glare for Martha was implacable.

"_Apparently_," Valentine snapped at everyone, fuming. "I am the only one here who knows how to handle _children_… So _I_ am going to take care of Eve, and _then_ I am going to come back and deal with Jonathan – and then Martha, we will talk about this later…"

"Yes, sir," they all answered in unison.

With one last, piercing glare at the group of them, Valentine turned, with Eve still clasped in his arms, and stormed out of his office.

Eve wanted to make Valentine not angry anymore, but she was silent – unable to find the words.

She knew she ought to still be upset – after all, the rancid-drink taste was still lingering on her mouth, and it sounded like Jonathan and Martha were going to be punished – but Eve buried her nose into the shoulder of Valentine's suit jacket, just so he could not see her face, and she smiled.

She supposed _something_ good had come out of this afternoon, in the end. After all, she had completed her part of the challenge – and Jonathan had even admitted that she was successful out-loud…

That meant that Eve had won, she realized happily…

It meant that she and Jonathan were now friends.

* * *

><p><strong>LOL, I love Martha so much... If you read my story The Hunt - which is all about how Jada and Valentine first met - you will see more of Martha... <strong>

**Poor Eve drinking scotch... maybe Valentine shouldn't keep his alcohol in such accessible places... And how frightening is it that Valentine is the only one who can take care of children? Scary thought... **

**Anyway, review with questions, criticisms, and/or thoughts!**

**Until next time,**

**Love, Fishie. **


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